


apotheosis

by MischiefManaged



Series: shit, let's be gods [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Death, Gore, M/M, Owl God!Reaper, Supernatural Elements, this story is not as serious as im making it look tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:51:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7948690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MischiefManaged/pseuds/MischiefManaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You have a lot of anger in you, and guilt. You hope that because they betrayed you, you are justified in your actions. You tell yourself this every time. It fuels your quest for vengeance. Yet you think: Is what you are doing truly justified? Will vengeance free you from this curse? Are you any better than them, now? You betrayed people too, did you not? Killed the one you loved. What happens when this is all said and done? Will it ever end? Who is Reaper after the fight is over?"</p>
<p>A resurrection, a redemption, and a romance in parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> **This story is completed in it's entirety. I'll be posting 1-2 chapters each day, depending on length, to spread the story out.***  
> This started off as a simple, one chapter fic and grew into a monster, but I've grown fond of it.
> 
> TW for child death in this chapter. It isn't expressed in great detail, but it does occur. If that's something you don't want to read, stop at "Away from the source of their pain?" and pick back up again at "A black mist rises from her"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **edit** : I bumped the rating down to M bc I think the explicit rating was giving the impression that there's sex in this, when there isn't. Hopefully it's not too violent?? If it is, I can put it back to explicit.
> 
> and also!!!! [ now there's some incredible art by the lovely and talented Gabi!](http://freedomconvicted.tumblr.com/post/150431620896/apotheosis-x-fanart-for-the-wonderful) as well as the lovely and talented [ liripip ](http://liripip.tumblr.com/post/150601433177) on tumblr :)

Nothing registers at first; there’s simply an awareness of his own existence. Then comes the cold that he will later learn is so deeply ingrained to his being that he will never feel warmth again. He sucks in a deep breath, stretching his lungs to capacity. An exhale and he realizes that he isn’t in the dark. Rather, a mask is fixated over his face; the eye holes filtering the sunlight to an extent that it’s almost like it’s night. As he sits up-- he’s in the middle of a field, the ground scorched and littered with debris-- he registers the agonizing pain that shoots through his whole body. He tears the mask from his face and retches onto the ground.

When he recovers enough to look around, he realizes that the sun is _agonizingly_ bright, to the point that he worries for his vision. The mask is slid back onto his face and he tries to recall how he got here. Who he is _._

_This is his moment. His glory. His victory….except it isn’t. At the podium stands his “friend.” Bright eyes, bright smile. Bright future. Betrayal and love._

_Then comes Blackwatch. Corruption. Innocent people slaughtered with_ **_his_ ** _own hands. For what?_

_Torture. Arson. Murder. No one is safe from them._

**_Talon. Dorado. Betrayal. Betrayal, betrayal, betrayal._ **

_Hatred, hatred,_ **_hatred_ ** _. Why does he hate so much? Why can’t he_ **_remember_ ** _?_

_Dissent. Rumors, whispered words in the dark of night. Protests._

_A bomb, a plot. Destroy Overwatch and end its influence. End its politics. Expose them._

_(One sided friendship. Mutual love. Jealousy, hurt, betrayal. But still love.)_

**_Hatred._ **

_A kiss. And then a gun. A fight, a fall. An explosion._

_(A set up. A plan to kill them both.)_

_The_ _building crumbles. Overwatch crumbles. People die. Gabriel dies._

_Black._

_Blinding white._

 

_A figure, stark black to contrast the white surrounding him. A voice both too loud and too quiet. A condemnation and a curse. “Walk the earth, see the suffering you’ve caused and suffer yourself.”_  

_A resurrection._

 

It’s too much at once, memories flooding back faster than his ability to comprehend them. He’s screaming when he comes back to himself, watching his own body dissolve and reform over and over in his emotional distress. He is nothing more than mist masquerading as a man; a body that lives even as it dies. It _hurts_ as he pulls himself back together.

He’s no longer Gabriel. He’s nothing so holy. The name doesn’t fit. His hands are stained with blood, even from his days in Blackwatch. He planted the bomb. He killed them.

Jack was never supposed to be in the room. No one was supposed to be in the barracks.

The only thing that stands out, a blaring alarm that sounds until he directs his thoughts to it, is one word. Talon. Talon did this. (Talon did this?) Talon used him. (Talon used him?) They had been there from the start, a cancer that spread through the organization (the world) and he… He had helped them. Why had he helped them?

 

Why can’t he **_remember_ **?

 

He decides, after a period in which he reorients himself, to become a harbinger of death; a force of nature that rallies against Talon and sows its destruction. Get his revenge for the hand he’s been dealt. There is nothing else for him, here. He doesn’t belong. Bring down Talon. That’s all he’s for.

Reaper, then. The name falls off his tongue like acid being spit onto the ground. The mask distorts his voice to something menacing. A perfect match to his new self, he supposes.

He stands amongst the wreckage, rusted metal that has lost it’s shape to time and grass that will never grow again, to begin his journey. The field isn’t familiar, and he can’t see anything across the stretch of land. He has no idea where he is. He barely knows who he is.

He has to start somewhere. Something is bound to show up.

 

The first few miles of empty dirt road afford him some introspection. This is something he can’t avoid. Being the practical man he is-- _was_ \-- he lays out the facts he now knows about himself. He is alive, but also dead. He is sensitive to light. He is cold. He is angry. He is Reaper. He is nothing. He hates.

 He is so very, very hungry.

 

(There are memories that are hazy to him, but he begins to piece his past life back together in his mind. He doesn’t like what he gets. Hatred and anger cloud over everything. Is this him? Is _he_ anger? Is he hate? It’s all he knows, now. All he can think of.)

 

Eventually the dirt road gives way to pavement, and with it comes a small town nestled between grassy hills. It’s evening by now and the sun is a dim orange glow heading towards the horizon. The short buildings are warmly lit and paper lanterns line the street and streetlights. He won’t be the weirdest person to cross through, surely, but he will garner questions like this. Ones he won’t be able to provide answers for.

Reaper hovers there, at the edge of the town, unsure of where he stands in this world now. Heroes have always been known for their eccentricities and costumes, but he’s no hero.

The sun sets around him before he makes his decision. The town, he realizes, is too quiet. No one is on the streets. No voices muffled by windows and walls. No music playing. The atmosphere forebodes something awful.

Something is clearly off and Reaper wonders if he should involve himself in this. His answer comes in the form of a soft hoot and a pressure on his shoulder. When he turns his head, he finds a barn owl perched there and looking directly at him. It tilts its head. They make eye contact and then it takes off, swooping down into the town and landing on the railing of someone’s porch.

It looks at Reaper again, and calls out once more. His feet are moving before he makes the conscious decision to follow it. Uncertainty builds as he moves.

When he arrives, the owl turns towards the window beside it. Still unsure, but unable to resist the urge, Reaper peers into the home. At first glance it appears to be empty, but upon closer inspection he can see a body laid out on the ground. Blood is pooled around the person and they twitch with an effort to move. Away from the source of their pain?

No, towards something else. He looks to the left and there is a child, a young girl. Her eyes stare blankly back at him and she doesn’t move. He can’t see her wound, but he knows it was fatal.

Her mother, maybe? Reapers moves to the door, and finds it knocked off the hinges. As he steps inside he realizes he doesn’t have much of a plan. What help could he even offer, and does he want to? He’s death, he can offer no life.

Still, he moves. The mother notices him only once he’s in range of her daughter and she opens her mouth to scream. All that comes out is a strangled noise, her throat torn through. Her eyes dart between her daughter and him, and her hands scramble across the hardwood floor in desperation. He wonders if she’ll try to fight him for this child.

The woman collapses onto the ground, unable to move, before he gets his answer. Reaper approaches, crouching down in front of her. Her glossy eyes plead at him, though he doesn’t know what for; and then they slide shut. Her body goes limp and he feels nothing.

A black mist tinged with orange rises from her and he jerks away from it, expecting poison. It seeps into the mask no matter how far he backs away. It suffocates him until he has no choice but to breathe it in. It’s sweet; a heavy, honeyed taste that lingers in the back of his throat.

When death doesn’t come, he realizes it wasn’t poison. And if it was, it hasn’t had any effect. Whatever it was, though, it’s sated his hunger. He suspects it’s tied to whatever’s been done to him to make him this way.

 

He reels as he stands, feeling disgusting.

 

The owl is still on the porch when he goes outside and it leads him from home to home to home. A psychopomp of sorts. He follows numbly. Each one is similar to the last. People dying, and black mist. And each time his hunger dulls until he feels full.

The final house had one word scratched into the floor, as if carved in desperation. A warning or a hope for retribution: Talon.

Reaper sits on a curb outside of the final home and lashes out at the owl that perches on his knee. “Is this what I’m supposed to do, now? Feed off of death like a _maggot_?”

The bird tilts its head to the side. _Is a maggot not what you are?,_ comes the reply.

 

(Reaper can’t even find it within himself to be surprised that the animal is speaking. Because it is an animal, no signs of artificiality in it.)

 

Reaper considers the question. He, himself, had first made the comparison so he can hardly blame it on the owl. The indignation at the idea of being compared to something so lowly makes his blood boil, however. With a snarl Reaper stands, the owl fluttering into the air as it’s jostled from its perch on his knee.

“No,” Reaper growls, a low and feral denial that tears its way out of his chest to be spat back in the face of this creature. “I am _not._ “

The silence that follows his exclamation is charged, the owl landing on the ground in front of him and staring. Though it’s not capable of a facial expression, he gets the impression that he is being appraised. Its head dips, and a brown wing is extended and gestured towards the road heading out of the town.

 

_Then prove it._

 


	2. ii.

The weeks that follow Reaper’s awakening are filled with death; once again, he is the cause. He had learned early on what Talon has been doing in his absence, recruiting the mercenaries he had made out of Blackwatch soldiers, and turning them to a worse purpose than the one Gabriel had set forth. By this point he has a solid purpose, a plan.

For a brief time, he had considered joining Talon. What better way to bring something down than from the inside? It would be his easiest route in getting to ex Overwatch agents as well. (Yes, he knows. Agents had turned against them early on, poisoning from the inside.) The idea doesn’t appeal, after consideration. He hates them too strongly to be able to tolerate being undercover with them. No doubt he’d give himself away within the first week.

So a slow slaughter it is.

Right now, he finds himself in yet another Talon base, with a guard’s throat between his claws. His partner had been neutralized easily, a simple gunshot to the head. It’s sad, in a way. That such incompetent people can cause so much harm.

(The powers were something Reaper had discovered early on. With this new body came… abilities. Guns that manifest with the very essence of his being. A fluid form. Something akin to teleportation, though it’s more complicated than that. It’s disconcerting, if not convenient.)

He uses none of that right now. This is a moment for something far more simple and satisfying. “Final warning. Tell me where your other bases are, or face death. Although,” he muses with an amused tone, using his free hand to lift his mask, “I suppose you already are.”

Fear seizes the guard’s eyes, but to his credit, he does not cry out. Reaper knows what the man sees when he looks at his face. He is both a man and a monster. Gabriel Reyes, the man from Los Angeles, and Reaper, the monster with too many teeth and too many eyes; simultaneously. They distort the sense of reality the viewer has, and that, more than his actual appearance, is what brings about the most fear.

“No,” the man chokes out and Reaper hums a noise of acknowledgement.

“What a pity.” He slides the mask back on and the owl flies out of range of what is to come next. It would be kind to kill the man quickly. But he is not kind anymore. His claws dig into the skin, pressing slowly. In, in, in. And then the man’s throat is being torn from his body in a flurry of blood and skin and bone and sinew.

The death mist leaves him quickly, not lingering like some. It tastes bitter; an echo of fear and guilt and regret. Reaper drops him once he’s done feeding. The owl rumbles a noise of discontent and he glances over to see it rubbing its beak within a wing, removing a fleck of blood.

_ That was unnecessary. _

“It was satisfying,” he counters. He wipes his claws off on his cloak with the knowledge that it will be burnt off by his essence in due time.

_ You knew he didn’t know where the bases are. You retrieved that information weeks ago, anyways. _

“Yes,” Reaper admits, ”but I also knew he was the one who killed that child, that first night.”

There’s a pause, and he knows he’s being appraised again. He ignores the feeling in favor of moving deeper into the base. He senses that no one else is inside, it having been a small outpost for storing something. That ‘something’ is probably contained in the only crate in the building.

The response comes minutes later as he’s prying the lid off of a crate.  _ I didn’t think you capable of sentimentality. How human of you. _

“I feel  _ nothing _ .” Reaper isn’t fond of the way he’s judged by this creature. It’s as if every action he makes decides his final fate. He growls, low in his throat, and tears the wooden lid off. Inside the crate is, surprisingly enough, honest-to-god paper files. He picks up a beige folder and flips it open, eyes scanning the page quickly. “Old school. Quaint.”

The documents are coded, indecipherable without some effort on his part. It seems similar to the one Blackwatch used in the past. The only consistent thing is the number 76, repeated so often he knows it isn’t part of the cipher.

“We’ll stay here, for a while. I want to see what has Talon so interested.”

Reaper gathers the folders into his arms and searches out the small office he knows has to be in this place.

_ Will we, now? Are you in charge then?  _ The tone is amused, and it betrays its own words by trailing after him.

“You don’t seem inclined to take the lead,” he grunts. The office is in a far corner of the warehouse, tucked away behind dusty equipment and more crates. He kicks the door open to save the time of jostling folders around to free his hands.

_ True. It would not serve my purpose to lead you. _

The office is clean but cramped, a large desk on one side and a bed on the other. The owl takes up residence on the bed, knowing that Reaper will be irritated if it takes up space on the deck. Such an easily angered person, as it has come to learn.

Reaper stacks the folders on the desk and takes a seat in the swivel chair. However, he ignores the papers in favor of turning towards the bed. “And what is your purpose? To serve as a reminder of this curse?”

_ Is it a curse? _

“What  _ else  _ would it be?” he snarls; this being a touchy subject for him, still.

_ A second chance? A learning experience? A mistake? It’s only defined by what  _ **_you_ ** _ define it as. Humans are always so dramatic; reading too deeply into the pain of an experience to see the good that can come of it.  _

“How profoundly unhelpful,” Reaper replies sarcastically, the fight already drained from him. There’s too much effort involved in maintaining his frustration with the animal. He hadn’t expected a straight answer, anyways, seeing as how he had not gotten one so far.

_ You think I’m being purposefully obscure,  _ the reply comes slowly. A dawning realization. The owl’s feathers ruffle.  _ I am not permitted to tell you certain things. I can only help in the way I am allowed. Much as I try to work through loopholes, I cannot reach your own conclusions for you. _

This is the most the owl has talked this whole time, and Reaper wonders if maybe he just hadn’t been asking the right questions. It’s true that he tends to cut to the heart of the matter without thinking up possibilities himself. Can he really be faulted for doing so? He considers his next question carefully. “I remember being told that I would wander the earth. How long will I have to do this?”

_ I suspect you already know the answer to that, Child of Cain. _

The title startles him, his body physically jerking back in the chair. “What did you just call me?”

_ You are a child of Cain, are you not? Marked, made to wander the earth. Any slight against you is avenged sevenfold, albeit by your own hand. You are a murderer. It fits, does it not? Cain was still beloved by God, after all. _

“I haven’t been catholic for a long time,” Reaper snaps, but it sounds weak even to his own ears.The analogy is far too fitting and it pisses him off. Unable to take any more of the conversation, he turns the chair back to the desk and plucks a folder from the top of the pile. “I need to work on this.”

_ Very well. _

He goes undisturbed and when his concentration breaks an unknown amount of hours later, he’s abnormally tired. Sleep isn’t something he needs often, but it seems to be more necessary after he feeds on a violent death. He sets his papers aside and stands.

So far, all he’s managed to find out is that 76 (known also as “Soldier 76”) is a thorn in the side of a ring of smugglers named Los Muertos, as well as local gangs in other cities. A vigilante of sorts. Apparently this is also an issue for Talon because they’re in talks of taking the “businesses” over. Most of the information is useless to him.

He has to hand it to the vigilante, however; the reports indicate that he’s a one man army, though he rarely leaves death in his wake. It’s a rather compromising weakness for a vigilante to have, if he intends to intimidate.

 

It doesn’t matter.

 

Light is filtering through the cracks in the ceiling of the warehouse as the sun rises. As if sensing that Reaper intends to sleep, the owl flutters off of the bed. 

_ I will be in the rafters,  _ it says curtly, leaving before a response can be made. Probably before Reaper can make a quip about him being a legitimate owl.

Not that he has room to talk, he muses as he removes his mask and lays on the bed. His hood is pulled down over his head, allowing him to lull into sleep. It will be a full day before Talon realizes something has happened here.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so impatient i wonder if i'll even be able to keep from posting this whole thing at once. but! in any case, i decided to post the second chapter, too.


	3. iii.

A month passes and Reaper begins to notice that people in the towns he visits  _ recognize  _ him. He sees no wanted posters, hears no news stories; someone is obviously covering these murders up. Yet he’s no longer seen as a strange man a little bit too dedicated to halloween. He has a presence, and it’s menacing. They may not be on the news, but his murders are known. And they are brutal.

Reaper’s in a small town in Nevada when things come to a head. The plain white houses line the perfectly constructed streets in uniform. Suburban, perfect. No doubt, a good place to blend into, if you were hiding.

He’s seeking answers, walking the streets in search of a certain person’s house; having disregarded the consequences of being out in the open a long time ago. If people are afraid of him, it’s only to his advantage. No one seems inclined to confront him.

He catches whispers. A shocked “that’s  _ him _ ” hissed before being silenced by a worried friend, a harried “ _ go _ ” as a child lingers to stare. The glances are nervous, the air is tense. A few people hurry out of his way without looking at him. (It’s for the best. No need to involve them.)

No one says anything to him. Even as he slips into the backyard of the former Overwatch agent he’s here for, the neighbors choose to look away. 

It’s oh so easy to slip through the crack under the back door, reforming himself only once he’s sure of where the agent is. She seems to know exactly what he’s here for, too. She isn’t the first person he’s visited. 

“Maria,” he greets the woman on the couch sarcastically, glove raised in a wave. In his other hand is a shotgun. “You’ve gotten lax in your old age.”

Her eyes narrow, wrinkles deepening at the corners and only serving to age her face further. Her hair is unkempt and she doesn’t look like she’s done much more than sit on this couch for the past week. There’s no fight in her anymore. It’s disappointing. The last person had died from the lacerations he received from their fight. Reaper didn’t even have to deal a final blow. Also disappointing, but still more satisfying than this.

“Who are you?” Maria demands, but her voice lacks any real conviction. She obviously doesn’t care for the answer, whatever it is. But, oh, does he remember her. She had handed him the bomb, told him where to go.

He points the barrel of his shotgun at her face, and she doesn’t even glance at it. “I think you know. And I think you know what I want.”

The gun presses against her and her eyes harden, the first stirrings of emotion he’s seen from her since he arrived. Her laugh is bitter as she tips her head back in acceptance of her fate. A cruel smile from a cruel woman. “You want to know what Talon did and why you can’t remember. You’re more naive than I thought if you think I was given any details about their little pet project. You’re looking in all the wrong places,  _ Gabriel. _ ”

It isn’t hard to figure out who he is. He hasn’t made any attempt to hide his past identity from his targets, and the string of murders related to both Talon and Overwatch only point to a few number of people. One of whom is a sniper with a distaste for a messy execution. Maria gets no brownie points for having figured it out.

“Gabriel Reyes is dead,” he replies simply. No emotion, no tone. She opens her mouth to speak and he pulls the trigger. Her soul tastes like pomegranate and ash.

“Sleep,” comes the command. His lip curls at the mess of what was once a woman, at the blood splatter painting the walls, and he leaves the house. 

The owl flutters to the fence bordering the house as he approaches it.

_ I thought you were waiting until tomorrow to do this. _

“Change of plans.” He pushes out of the gate and strolls back onto the streets. Once again no one says anything, but the looks he gets are far more fearful this time. They know what he’s done. 

There’s no point in staying here now, but he has no solid idea of where to go from here. He’s exhausted his current list of Overwatch traitors. He’d have to bribe someone to find another Talon outpost, though he doubts anyone in this town knows. He’d need to go to a larger city.

_ They talk about you in the towns, you know. They say you’re a spirit, an ill omen. _

“I’m not a spirit.” 

_ Are you not? Can humans do the things you do? You could be both human and spirit, if you wanted.  _ It pauses; then: _ Some call you a god, too. _

“I am  _ not  _ a god,” he hisses, and doesn’t ponder on the subject further.

They walk in silence after that. Reaper thinks fleetingly of the woman he thought Maria had been. She’d brought donuts to official meetings, booze to Blackwatch ones. She was a formidable sparring partner. No one could make her do something she didn’t decide to do. He’d always admired that about her. Now, he can see why she had seemed so ruthless before.

Her words echo in his head. Is he looking in the wrong places? There’s  _ nowhere else  _ to look. It makes no sense; the ramblings of a victim on their deathbed. All he’s found out, in his conquest, is that Talon did something to him. And that something has clouded his memories. So Talon is the place to look.

The unbidden memories of her sour his already contentious mood, and he grits his teeth together behind his mask. Maria was not the Maria he thought he knew. Just as Overwatch was not the organization he’d put his heart into. 

Just as he is no longer Gabriel. 

_ You are not as unaffected by this as you would have people believe. You claim you don’t feel emotions but I think that you  _ **_do._ ** _ I can feel your anger from over here. But also, sorrow. You mourn for her. _

“You don’t know anything about what I feel,” he snarls, stopping in his tracks to keep from lashing out at the bird. It’s important, somehow, and killing it would multiply his problems. At the very least, it seems to know how Reaper got back to the land of the living. That doesn’t mean the owl doesn’t agitate him constantly and with precision. “She needed to die.”

But, deny it as he may, he  _ is  _ mourning for her. And he despises that about himself. He hates even more that the bird is able to pick up on it. Quietly, with heat, he admits, ”She was a friend, once.” 

_ It’s a very human reaction. Though the way you kill is hardly so; you act as if ruthlessly taking a life is as simple for you as breathing. _

“That’s because it  _ is _ ,” he growls under his breath, words coming from low in his throat and clawing their way out in his anger. They’ve finally drawn enough attention that he feels a desire to be out of the public eye. He steps into a side alley and the owl follows.

_ I think not. You have a lot of anger in you, and guilt. You hope that because they betrayed you, you are justified in your actions. You tell yourself this every time. It fuels your quest for vengeance. Yet you think: Is what you are doing truly justified? Will vengeance free you from this curse? Are you any better than them, now? You betrayed people too, did you not? Killed the one you loved. What happens when this is all said and done? Will it ever end? Who is Reaper after the fight is over? _

_ The truth is, you have no idea. You have no knowledge of your place in this world and no solid memory of how you ended up like this, who made you the way you are. And that makes you afraid. Which, in turn, makes you more angry. It is a self destructive cycle, because until you acknowledge these thoughts and emotions, you will end up on the path to being something you hate. You will lose yourself and your purpose, and you will slaughter innocent people. Is any of this striking a chord? _

It is. Too much of it. It’s overwhelming and distressing, having the things he won’t even admit to himself laid out before him by a  _ bird. _  Every single thing is something Reaper has thought about at one point or another, and every time he pushes them aside. He won’t think about it. He can’t afford to think about it. It’s a distraction, and he has a mission. A mission he intends to finish.

Reaper storms away from the owl without even a glance. He’s mist. And then he’s gone.

 

It does not follow.

  
  



	4. iv.

Three weeks later Reaper sits at the top of a hill, head resting against the back of a rusty truck he’d stolen a week ago. Paper lanterns line the streets. Empty houses are filled with dust and bad memories, ghosts in their own right. Behind him lies a graveyard.

Sentimentality may have brought him here. Maybe even a desire to give his respects to the dead. He had, after all, taken their souls in a way. (The owl had told him that once, that the mist he consumes is a fraction of one’s soul. He tries not to think about it.)

A sound he hasn’t heard since Nevada echoes behind him; a flutter of wings. He doesn’t look at the bird, and doesn’t speak. It’s silent for a time, and Reaper is forced to reflect back on their conversation. It’s something he’d been doing quite a bit the past few weeks.

The conclusions he had reached weren’t exactly concrete, but he’s come to terms with the fact that he cannot sever himself completely from Gabriel Reyes. Despite it all, despite what he’s become, he is still him. But he is also Reaper. And Reaper is who shall lead.

He cannot stop his emotions, and he feels them more strongly now that he’s acknowledged them. It’s an inconvenience, but there’s no going back at this point. Any attempt to shove an emotion aside brings it back twice as strong. Even so, anger is always at the forefront. It’s inescapable, but he hasn’t tried to escape it.

He’s had enough of introspection, by this point.

When it doesn’t appear that the owl is going to speak, Reaper reluctantly airs his thoughts. “I am not afraid.” 

He receives a small noise of acknowledgement. 

“You’re really fucking annoying,” he adds as an afterthought.

_ Feeling better, then? _

He is. A few days prior, he had finally found a Talon database that had a complete list of the Overwatch members who had been double agents. Before, he had only a few names. This, coupled with the Overwatch recall he’d also learned about, is enough to abate his anger at the bird. Reaper stands and needlessly dusts off his pants. “Yes, and I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing.”

_ No more teenage angst? _

“I was not--” He regards the owl carefully. It has been picking up on human terminology. Old terminology, at that. “What have you been doing this whole time?”

_ Research.  _ It’s quiet for a time and just as Reaper begins to wonder if that was all it was going to say, it continues.  _ You have your own mythos in some corners of the internet. A religion centered around you. People leave offerings, build shrines. _

“How, exactly, does an owl use a computer?”

_ Very carefully. That shouldn’t be the thing you find odd about what I said…. Rumor has it, when a barn owl appears in your town, death will descend upon it. A black cloud that tears flesh from bone and then sucks the souls from sinners.  _

“They’re… not wrong, technically,” he says slowly, as if trying to understand what, exactly, the owl is trying to convey to him. The whole thing is nonsense and he hadn’t thought about it since he was first told about it. “That doesn’t make me a god. What is the point of you telling me this?”

_ Well, why doesn’t it make you one? You have supernatural abilities, the possibility of being a spirit, and you have worshippers. I am, technically, your follower. Seems to fit the criteria. Why not accept the title? _

“Because I don’t fucking want it,” he snaps. “Wouldn’t I  _ know  _ I was a god, already? Wouldn’t I be able to  _ hear _ them praying to me? I was a human before this; whatever ‘ _ this’  _ is.” He’s thinking about this more than he wants to be. It’s unnecessary, a distraction and a folly.

_ You swear more now. Who knew a cold blooded killer could have such a dazzling personality?  _ It hums, an odd noise to hear coming from a bird. _ You know, in some religions, having been a human is not a negating factor for a god to have. _

“Shut up. Just because a bunch of teenagers on the internet say I’m a god, it doesn’t make me one.” Reaper kicks at the tire of his truck. He goes still and then asks, again, in a resigned tone: “Why are you telling me this? It’s not relevant to anything that I’m doing.”

_ It will be. Aren’t you the least bit curious? _

“No!” He snaps, opening the door to the driver’s side and slamming it shut once he’s seated. He rolls down the window on the passenger side and snarls, “Just get in the fucking truck.”

 

The next day, Reaper buys a cell phone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thus i lost my ability to keep this story super serious.


	5. v.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to have to google roman numerals soon.

They’re in some hole-in-the-wall, definitely used for illegal things hotel four weeks later when Reaper broaches the subject again. The sheets he’s laying on smell like mildew and the ceiling above him looks alarmingly close to collapsing, both stained from an excess of water. Possibly something else. All of those things he ignores. He’s staring at the screen of his phone, gloves removed-- a thing he only recently discovered he was able to do, not having a need to try it before-- and mask on the nightstand.

This phenomenon is plaguing him and he can’t seem to get anything done while it preoccupies his mind. It frustrates him that he can’t pinpoint what it is about it that’s bothering him to this point. His last raid on Talon was botched because someone had followed him to see what he does “as a god.”  

(Kid nearly got shot. Should have let him. The mission wasn’t important, though. He had a much bigger thing planned for the future. That one was simply to remind Talon of his existence.)

Squinting at the screen doesn’t make the concept easier to understand, but he does it regardless. He has at least one month to get this out of his system, before he can make his next move. The recall won’t be happening for another 6 months and all he needs to take from Talon now is answers. This next mission involves more stealth than violence.

“There’s someone on here who claims to be a priest of mine. He wants to hold some sort of mass.” Reaper’s lip curls in disgust at the idea. He’s been diving into this part of the internet for three hours now, and it gets progressively worse the deeper he goes. “It’s getting  _ really  _ old, having people claim to speak for me. I wouldn’t say half of this shit. I don’t even  _ know  _ Latin...I doubt he intends to do anything good there.”

_ So go stop him. _

“I don’t take orders from  _ birds _ . And in case you haven’t noticed, I have something more important I need to do.” (He really doesn’t; not yet.)

The idea gives Reaper pause, though. It’s not really something he wants to involve himself with. His goal is to root out Talon, not play god with some people with a skewed perception of him. On the other hand, he knows the types of kids such an event will attract. People involved with him die on  _ his  _ terms. And those terms are very specifically tied to Talon and Overwatch. He can’t let teenagers get killed in his name. (He does not vocalise that particular conviction.)

_ You have time to kill.  _ Its tone is strange and it takes a moment for him to parse it.  _ That was a pun. _

“You’re somehow more annoying when you’re like this. Go back to being cryptic and silent.”

_ And you are far more rational now that you no longer have a stick in your butt around me. You are allowed to give yourself a break, every once in awhile, or you’ll burn yourself out. _

“Ass,” he says both as a correction to the term and as an insult. He doesn’t acknowledge the statement beyond that. Nothing about this is relaxing. He’s restless, and he wants to do something that isn’t this. He should be  _ killing _ . Sitting around, doing nothing, causes anger to bubble up even stronger. He is not  _ made  _ to be doing things like this.

It is right, though. This month really wouldn’t be spent in a way that’s any more productive, given that his bigger plan involves a period of inactivity. Inactivity with no violence, and possibly obscurity. Killing people isn’t an option yet. It is something to do, rather than take a roadtrip as the owl had earlier suggested.

However, this inactivity means he will have a whole month to consider his existence when it’s separated from everything he’s been doing up until this point. There’s no doubt that the owl will try and drag it out of him, eventually. He isn’t looking forward to it.

According to the site, the event is supposed to take place in a graveyard one state over, in a week's time. If he were to leave now, he’d make it there on time. He knows the cemetery is supposed to inspire a very specific emotion in people, and it only doubles his irritation, knowing how little people will care for the grounds. He mutters under his breath: “No reason to desecrate people's graves. Why claim to worship death and then go and disrespect the dead?”

Reaper sets the phone down on his chest and lets his arms lay at his side. He flings an arm out to feel around for his mask after a few minutes. “I am Death, and Death doesn’t play silly games with  _ idiots _ .”

_ Shall we leave now or in a few hours? _

 

Silence, and then a drawn out “now.”

 


	6. vi.

They arrive two hours early, ditching the truck behind an old building and trying to get to the cemetery without being seen. Even with the cover of night, it wouldn’t be hard to spot him if he brazenly wandered the streets. He’d been avoiding people ever since he found out about his “god status.” If someone were to approach him about it, there’s not a situation in which things would end smoothly. So slinking through back alleys it is. It’s fitting, he thinks.

The town is pretty remote, with a small population and old houses. It borders a much larger city, however. A big one where people like to fancy themselves as something important. It’s no small wonder that something like this got organized there and implanted itself onto the “poorer” area.

(No one gets treated like an equal in the big cities. He’d always hated that in Los Angeles and the notion had followed him to Overwatch as well. But that’s something from another life, and for another time.)

Once they’re clear of the buildings, it’s easy to blend in with the shadows of the forest that shelters the cemetery. A small dirt path leads the way through thick brush and grass that runs along the ground beneath the trees. It’s almost its own little world, sequestered away in a canopy of forest.

The gates of the cemetery are rusted, no doubt as old as the town itself, but it looks very well kept inside. Someone, at least, hadn’t forgotten their dead.

It’s surprisingly large, extending into the forest far beyond the distance that Reaper can see. Graves are nicely spread, no crowding between headstones, and a decent number of mausoleums can be seen. He drifts along the gate as a wraith, trying to find where this is supposed to take place. Quiet voices can be heard from deeper within the cemetery, whispers. Hoping not to get caught or for dramatic effect, he can’t tell. 

There’s a clearing in the center of the graveyard. Whatever it’s intended use is, they’ve hauled an unreasonable amount of equipment in there. They have black duffle bags with them.

It’s so easy to pick out which one is the leader amongst the small number of people who had come early. He’s draped in black fabric; wearing a crude, and, frankly, insulting imitation of his mask. There’s what he assumes is supposed to be a headdress perched on his head, and Reaper wonders if he had stolen those feathers from birds of prey in the same way that he’d stolen the idea from a culture that’s not his own. Disgusting.

_ You can’t kill him. _

“Why not?” he hisses, low and under his breath. It’s not petulant, exactly, but his displeasure at being told what to do is obvious. To anyone else, it would only sound like the rustling of leaves. “I can kill whoever I want.”

_ It wouldn’t look good.  _

Great, another point of contention that will no doubt end with the smug bird being in the right. “I don’t  _ care _ about looking good.”

_ I know you don’t. I’ve seen your face. That aside, you do care. You don’t kill indiscriminately. You cared about that child. You don’t want people to think you’d kill someone innocent.  _

“ Cálmate, cabrón . And you call me the asshole,” he mutters as he reforms himself beneath a tree that has a view of the area where people are setting things up. “I don’t care what they think I’d do. This guy’s not innocent.”

_ Maybe so. But he deserves jail time, not death. You can’t be the judge, jury, and executioner for these people. Save that for your targets. Do you really want to kill a man in front of a thirteen year old? _

No, he really doesn’t. He sighs in resignation. Has he won a single argument yet, he wonders. Probably not. “You’re right.”

_ Don’t worry. To outsiders, you are still a very menacing and intimidating personification of Death. _

“That’s because I  _ am _ ,” he insists a little too loudly; his voice in danger of attracting attention to them. When he’s sure no one has noticed them, he continues. “They don’t need to know anything other than that, because there isn’t anything else.”

It’s silent for a time. There’s a soft breeze, jostling the leaves and chilling the air. It’s nice. Reaper leans against the trunk of the tree and looks up into the darkness the leaves provide. Moonlight slips through the cracks where they don’t connect. Just when he’s about to fully appreciate the lull in conversation, the bird speaks again.

_ Have you ever pondered the concept of liminality? _

Reaper’s eyes drift to the branch where it’s sitting. “Are you really trying to get philosophical right now?”

_ We have the time. It’s not supposed to start for a while. So I ask you again, have you ever pondered-- _

“The concept of liminality, yes. No need to repeat yourself.” He’s annoyed again, the bird notes. Reaper seems to prefer scanning the gathering instead of talking to it, but nothing of importance is happening. “I have not.” 

_ It’s highly relevant to who you are. Do you know what liminality is? _

“They don’t teach philosophy in high school,” he says in lieu of actually admitting a lack of knowledge.

_ It’s the space between two things. A threshold, a crossroads. But it can also be something that is both one thing and also its counterpart. You, in particular, seem to embody this better than any example I could give. Both human and monster. Both dead and alive. Stuck between this world and the next. Solid until you aren’t. Gabriel and Reaper. Anger and compassion. Something bad that does good. If they are to call you something, it should be a liminal god. _

“They shouldn’t call me  _ anything  _ other than Reaper, because that’s all I am.” A few people trickle into the gathering area, probably trying to look somber but only coming across as nervous. Reaper watches them. They have t-shirts with his face on it. He’s left wondering what it is about his mask that people can’t seem to get right. “I don’t want them thinking I’m a god. It’s ridiculous.”

_ It could work to your advantage. People fear gods more than anything else. What makes a god to you, by the way? _

“We are  _ not  _ doing this right now,” Reaper says with finality. It sees no point in continuing the discussion while he’s so annoyed with the idea, so it remains silent. More people begin to arrive in groups and the owl is surprised when Reaper is the one to speak first. “Do you have a name?”

_ I was wondering when you were going to ask that. Dolios will do just fine. _

“I like the one I’ve been using in my head better. Pendejo. Has a nice ring to it.”

_ I understand Spanish, you realize. _

“Oh, I realize.” A smirk forms on his face but he tamps it down quickly. He isn’t going to build a rapport with this thing right now. By now the cemetery is crowded with people. A large amount of people. A really alarming amount of people. Reaper had been expecting 20, at most. This is bordering on a hundred. 

As if sensing his incredulity, the owl-- Dolios, he corrects himself-- says,  _ And these are only the people who were close enough to make it, or had the funds to travel. _

“This is a lot of people.”

_ You’ve been through a lot of towns. Word spreads fast, even without the internet. With it, it’s not surprising you’ve amassed such a large following.  _

“I  _ kill  _ people. That’s  _ all they know  _ about me. They don’t even know the reasoning behind why I do it.” The whole thing is absurd, beyond his realm of comprehension. He doesn’t understand it and he doesn’t want to. It angers him for reasons he can’t place and it really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. It’s a huge inconvenience in his life. Every single thing about it pisses him off. “Even if I  _ was  _ a god, why pick one so….”

_ Evil? Humans flock to danger like moths to light. And in doing so, they get burned. But gods have been known to kill people from time to time. A lot of times. Who can say that a god has no right to decide when someone should die? It’s a thing that’s accepted without question for most people. _

Something in the air shifts and immediately he knows that the ceremony is about to start. He raises a hand to silence Dolios, knowing it won’t appreciate the gesture. Most of the people are standing, but some sit on the headstones. (Even more crude imitations of his mask.) Before them, and behind the leader, is a large table covered with black velvet and lined with objects. Knives, cups,  _ bones _ . A basket of apples, of all things. It’s an array of clutter that has no connection to him. There’s a suspicious number of knives. Reaper has to keep from preemptively shutting the whole thing down. If he’s going to do it, he’s going to do it right.

(As dramatically as possible and with no small amount of flare. They don’t need a repeat of this, and he has some anger he wants to vent.)

The leader raises a hand and the people quiet down. “Let us begin with a prayer. Repeat after me, if you will.”

The words begin and then drone on and on, and Reaper thinks it may be Latin, but he isn’t sure. The tone is dull and emotionless; and Reaper loses track of how many times the word ‘tenebris’ is used. It’s all very droll. He hates it. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dolios puff up and agitate its feathers. It’s enough to make him look away from the lackluster proceedings for a moment. 

_ His pronunciation is all wrong and his conjugation of verbs is just  _ **_atrocious_ ** _. _

“Misery loves company,” he quips in monotone. “It’s a long dead language. I doubt very many people can read it, let alone pronounce it.”

_ If you’re going to write a hymn to a god you should do it correctly and with some effort. There’s no feeling in this, no emotion; it’s all for show. He disgusts me. _

The words get louder and louder as the “prayer” continues, and Dolios grows angrier by the second. It almost distracts Reaper from his own irritation. He’s never actually seen something get to the normally composed bird. It’s unsettling. Whatever the man is saying, Dolios is affronted by it.

_ Kill him. _

Reaper isn’t surprised by the statement, having expected it to come about eventually. Anger brings violence; as he well knows. He turns his head away. “You kill him.”

The words stop and Dolios grows still, eyes fixated on the leader. Reaper wonders for a moment if the owl will actually do it. He wouldn’t stop it. But then the man reaches for the largest knife on the table, raising it into the air above his head; it’s enough to snap the tension from Dolios. 

In his other hand the leader holds a poor parody of a chalice. The plasticity of it is obvious even from a distance. Despite not wanting this to be happening, he’s a little bit insulted that the  _ leader  _ couldn’t spring for something nicer. His site was full of links leading to donation opportunities, after all. “Pathetic.”

Dolios stays still and silent.

“Now, we shall conjure the Beast!” the leader exclaims. Reaper is mildly offended at being called a beast and his claws dig into the bark of the tree trunk. What an  _ asshole _ . “Everyone, take up a knife and Death shall guide us in this rite!”

As people either grab a knife from the table or procure their own, Reaper mists under the gate and a little ways behind the table.This is his cue, probably. If not, he’s going to shut it down before someone does something stupid.

The Latin begins again after a moment, and Reaper wonders how it is he’s supposed to know the part that is meant to summon him. When the words stop, maybe. He gets his answer when the leader finishes, in English, with: “Rise, Beast, and speak!”

Dolios swoops down and perches on the leader’s shoulder. A murmur runs through the crowd and the leader goes stiff, and then seems to falter. 

With the most menacing laughter he can manage, Reaper rises in billows of mist. The shadows of the forest lend credence to his supposedly large presence, and he allows part of himself to stay incorporeal, black wisps curling off of him and then back; giving off the impression that he  _ is  _ the darkness. He solidifies only his face and arms, but nothing else. Those are the most intimidating parts. Anything else looks less than what he’s going for.

He towers over the man, a good few feet higher, and drawls sarcastically, “And what would you have me say?”

The crowd is either too afraid or too curious to move, frozen in place as the leader fumbles with his knife and then lets it clatter onto the ground. The chalice has long since slipped from his fingers and dark liquid leaks from it to sink into the dirt. “I- I--”

“You  _ what? _ ” 

“I didn’t think…” the man begins, and Reaper can already smell the guilty fear on him. It’s a very disgusting sort of scent; sweat and urine and cowardice. He actively hates this man, he decides. But he won’t kill him, if only to avoid having to taste the man’s soul.

“You didn’t think I would show?” He glances at the crowd. No one has left yet, but most have removed their masks to see better. One person has their cell phone out, no doubt recording this. Brave, but a nuisance. “Or maybe you didn’t think I was real. I was just an opportunity for you to  _ scam  _ and  _ harm  _ people.” 

“No--”

“Do not  **lie** to me!” Reaper roars, and the sound of it echoes through the trees. He feels himself grow larger with it, looming high in the air now. 

(He feels kitschy. This is so cliche. No one will believe the video is real, with how over the top he’s being. How are gods supposed to act?)

The leader is steadfast in his denial however, shaking his head as if to expel the accusations.The headdress comes dangerously close to falling from his head and his mask is turned askew. Dolios decides then to take its leave. “Y-you’re not real. You’re here to trick these poor people! The real Beast would never--”

“I am NOT a  **BEAST.** ” He’s getting really tired of that name; it feels demeaning. It shouldn’t even matter, but it does. (His theme is obviously centered around owls. Beast doesn’t even make  _ sense _ .) He places a hand on his mask, concentrating on what’s to happen next. Dolios had told him that with a bit of effort, Reaper could make only one of his faces be visible and have it look more terrifying should he want to. He trusts that it’s true, otherwise it will lead to a slew of issues. “Tell me! Does this look fake to you?”

And the piece de resistance to cap off this performance. He tears the mask from his face and it falls a foot before dissolving into mist. No one is looking at that now, however. He grins with a mouth that seemingly has no end and teeth that crowd together in a sharp grin. Eyes are scattered throughout the darkness, red and all seeing. 

It’s silent. Then, the leader drops to his knees and starts wailing something Reaper doesn’t bother to listen to. He addresses the crowd, now. A lot of them are still here. He has no idea why, but it gives him a larger number of people to talk to. 

“I do not speak through humans. This man is a fraud, and so is anyone else who claims to speak on my behalf,” Reaper states firmly, his annoyance starting to trickle into his voice.  “Don’t... do stupid shit. I don’t want your blood.” He places the mask back on his face and allows himself to sink back into the form of a man. 

Moving around the table, he can see the leader prostrated on the ground, cowering. Reaper presses a boot into his side and kicks him onto his back so he’s looking up into his mask. He bends over to tear the mask completely from the man’s face and chuckles darkly.

“You’re crying,” he mocks, moving his foot to instead rest against the man’s throat. He pushes, just slightly. Enough to be a threat but not quite enough to choke. Leaning in, he hisses so only the man can hear, “If I hear about you again. If I see you again, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

The man goes wide eyed and a full bodied shudder shakes him. His nod is almost imperceptible but it’s enough for Reaper to remove his boot and instead turn his attention back to the crowd.

He glances at the table, ignores the leader. “I hate apples.”

That’s when he takes his leave, dissolving into “nothing” and slipping away into the night before anyone can follow him. It takes a minute to find where Dolios is hiding, and he reforms under the tree lying down.

_ That was dramatic. _

“It was exhausting,” Reaper counters, though he agrees. He feels tired to his core, and he can’t will himself to move just yet. His bones have to be liquid by now, with the way that they feel. Even speaking seems like more effort than it’s worth. What about that had been this taxing? It wasn’t that far out of his usual usage of power.

_ It got the point across nicely. I liked the part at the end where you dropped the menacing act in favor of keeping teenagers from harming themselves. It adds a touch of compassion to your evil image. _

“Fuck my image. Fuck  _ that guy _ .” Dolios seconds the sentiment. “I should have crushed his windpipe.”

_ You are tired. You aren’t filtering your thoughts before you speak. _

“Yeah, I am tired,” he growls, though it’s lacking in feeling. “That took a lot of energy to do, and some feathery pendejo won’t shut up and let me rest for five minutes.”

_ I didn’t mean in the literal sense. _

“Of course you didn’t,” Reaper mutters. Why did he think that he could get a break from this philosophical nonsense for more than a minute with this owl?

_ You are tired of existing. You don’t want to be anything to these people, or to anyone else except a threat. You wish you hadn’t been sent back to this realm. You don’t want to be Reaper; not forever. _

“It doesn’t matter what I want, it’s who I am.” Dolios’ face comes into view and it is somehow pitying despite lacking the capability of being so. “Whatever you are about to say, shut up.”

_ I only repeat your own thoughts back to you, you know. You feel you need to be Reaper. Perhaps you do. But what do you  _ **_want_ ** _ to be, at the end of this all? _

“Free.” The word tumbles from his mouth unbidden. It’s soft and melancholy. And it shocks him, having voiced it. He steels his voice to cover up for the fact that he had revealed so much about himself with just one word. “It doesn’t  _ matter _ .”

_ No one is making you do the things you’re doing. You could be Gabriel, if you wanted. It won’t stop people from pushing their own idealizations onto their idea of you, but you can be anyone. _

“It’s not that easy.”

_ No? _

“No!” He snaps. Then, with conviction, “not yet.”

The subject is dropped.

 

He sleeps on the floor of a mausoleum that night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i... have nothing to say. except maybe sorry
> 
> oh also, my tumblr is prettyferalprince in case thats a thing someone wants


	7. vii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's some mild (ish) gore in this chapter so be warned! the lead up to it is fairly obvious so i don't think it'll blindside anyone.

A small town in New Mexico is where they find themselves next. Reaper is in yet another dingy hotel, with all the commodities that come with such a thing. The roaches are a nice touch, he thinks.

Definitely adds to the misery of the place. He’s not exactly wallowing in it, but he isn’t thrilled to be where they are. Reaper is beginning to get more anxious, not liking this nonsense that they’re doing. He should be killing agents, or getting answers. He should be… reaping.

There’s no real reason for them to be here, other than a rumor that a public shrine has been built for him. His spectacle from a week ago did nothing to quell his followers, and seems to have doubled it. A large amount of people believe that the video is real, and it’s gone viral.

_ You could use it to your advantage. Your religion is growing,  _ Dolios says when Reaper voices his complaints on the matter yet again.  _ Lots of people would do anything for a god. _

“I don’t want anything to do with them,” he mutters from behind the screen of his phone. “I don’t want that kind of power over people.”

_ No? _

“No.” An image on his phone makes him recoil and he nearly throws the device at a wall. “There’s a picture of my legs all over the internet. I don’t understand it.”

_ Hm.  _ It’s peering over his shoulder now.  _ Ah, look at that one. ‘Thick thighs save lives.’ What an interesting  motto. _

“This is getting ridiculous.”

 

He leaves to do. Something. Whatever that is, isn’t objectively clear so he ends up wandering the dark streets behind businesses that have long since closed. The smell of urine and bile is pungent, suffocating him even through the mask and he contemplates going back. But something, something is pulling him onwards.

He finds it, in the form of a young girl. She’s in a corner, between a wall and a dumpster, shivering. Pacing towards her is a man, and the arm that hangs down by his side holds a knife. It’s so cliche, he thinks, to murder a child in a back alley.

The man is snatched backwards before he can even take another step, and Reaper throws him heavily into the brick wall on the other side of the alley. The girl flinches away from him, and he doesn’t draw closer. He tips his head to the side, considering. “Do you have a home?”

She nods, shakily and quickly, but doesn’t speak. The man begins to stir, groaning and cursing, but Reaper keeps his focus on the child. “Are you lost?”

She nods again. Of course, he thinks. Because why would any of this be easy? Is it even worth it?

Her shaking is beginning to get violent and he notices that her clothes are wet from the puddle she’s sitting in. The cold is probably getting to her. He sighs, heavily and very put upon, but removes his gloves to extend a hand to her. She glances at it, and very carefully puts out her own.

He shakes it lightly, and introduces himself. “I’m Gabriel. Do you want me to help you home?”

“Annalise,” comes the soft reply, and her voice wavers. She seems to consider her options quickly. She can’t be more than seven years old, he thinks. This isn’t a situation she should have ever been faced with and it makes him grit his teeth. “P-please.”

His anger is building again, spurred on by the entire situation and his frustration from his days of “relaxing.” The alleyway is fairly long, ending a decent number of feet away, but there aren’t any buildings on the other side. He nods his head in that direction. “Wait for me around the corner,” he instructs, careful to keep his anger out of his voice. He glances over at the man, who is barely coming back to consciousness. “Don’t look back.”

She does as she’s told and nearly sprints to the end of the alley, ducking around the corner and out of sight. Once he’s sure she isn’t going to look, he strolls over to the man and hoists him up by his throat. He pins him against the wall like that, a few inches too high for the man’s feet to be able to touch the ground.

“You’re in luck,” he tells the man as he brings his gloves back into existence. “I’m in a merciful sort of mood.”

He isn’t. But killing the man would probably catch the kid’s attention and he isn’t going to risk her witnessing that. Instead he presses a talon point of a finger to each of the man’s eyes. The man seems to catch on quickly, struggling around in Reaper’s grasp and straining to kick out at him. His protests are choked out in wheezing breaths, nearly inaudible.

“Smart man,” he mocks. “You know what’s coming.”

His eyes widen, only making it easier for Reaper to press the sharp ends into his eyes. It’s slow, only scraping the cornea for a moment to let the man know exactly how the rest is going to feel; and then pushing in until the man’s throat strains against Reaper’s hand in his howl of pain. Blood and vitreous liquid wells up and then flows over Reaper’s fingers and down the man’s face. He stops just before he can puncture into the man’s skull, and twists his fingers as he yanks them out quickly.

By this point the man has already passed out in shock. Reaper’s a little disappointed, but it’s probably for the better. He lets go of the man and lets him fall to a heap on the ground. The gore on his fingers gets flicked away, and he wipes the more obvious bits off of his gloves before taking them back off and letting them dissolve.

She’s still there, when he exits the alley, and shows no sign of knowing what just happened. No doubt, she has her guesses. She reaches for his hand this time, wide and glassy brown eyes staring up at him.

(Isabella, he thinks with a start. She reminds him of his sister.)

Letting her grab his hand and tentatively lead him down the streets of the town is all he can really do. Going from door to door and asking for assistance would inevitably going very south. She seems to gain some confidence, after a few turns, and when a faded red house comes into view, she practically drags him to the front door in her haste to get there. 

She knocks on the door and it opens almost instantly, a worried mother pulling her into her arms and sobbing. The mother’s worried words tumble over one another, her hands smoothing themselves over her daughter’s face as she checks to see if she’s okay.

“It’s okay mama, he helped me,” she begins to explain, but when she turns to where Reaper had been standing, he’s no longer there. Instead, he watches from the shadows until she is safely ushered into her home. 

_ Have a nice walk? _ Dolios asks when he slams the door behind him upon his return.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he growls.

That night, he dreams of a large family and even larger meals. It feels… warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha ha, get it? blind side??


	8. viii.

His weird parody of a “different” life is crushed at the shrine, of all places. They’ve finally found it, a few hours into their search the following day. It’s nothing spectacular, a small alcove dug into the side of a clay building. There’s a statue of him inside, artfully crafted, and black candles. In front of the statue is a box labeled: ‘Prayers.’

He’s debating opening it when the muzzle of a gun is pressed into his back. It doesn’t catch him off guard; he’d heard the person approaching. They were quiet, sure, but he has exceptional hearing now. Reaper had caught onto them an hour ago. He lets them think they have the upperhand, however. He raises his arms in the appropriate fashion.

“Never thought I’d get to meet a god,” the rough voice speaks, flat despite the apparent joke.

“Consider yourself blessed, then,” comes the sarcastic reply. Apparently the man doesn’t appreciate the banter, pressing the muzzle into his back even harder. It makes Reaper grit his teeth together in annoyance.

Though, this is exactly the kind of thing he’s been itching for. Taking this person down may just settle his restlessness for a time. The man from last night hadn’t offered him a good fight.

He dissolves, reforming behind the man. (76 emblazed on his jacket. How  _ cliche _ .) Reaper’s too fast for him to keep up with, having caught him off guard. He’d underestimated the information he has on Reaper, apparently. Or lacks the capability to counter it.

Reaper brings down an elbow on the back of the man’s neck, hard, and he drops to the ground; his rifle skitters across the dirt. To his credit, 76 isn’t knocked unconscious, already beginning to push himself up just moments after. He’s reaching for his pulse rifle when Reaper presses a boot to his back and shoves him into the dirt once more, keeping him there with his weight.

“Someone didn’t do their homework.” He’d forgotten how fun taunting enemies is. This is refreshing, if a little disappointing. He had been expecting a little bit more from this vigilante he heard so much about in the streets.

“Thought it was all bells and whistles,” comes the grudging admission. Such an old phrase too. Reaper had thought the white hair had been a fashion choice, but this man is obviously up there in years. Interesting. “Tactical error.”

“You seem a little too old to be playing cops and robbers.” This isn’t the point, however. He shoves the joking aside and digs the heel of his boot even harder into the man’s spine. 76 tries to hide the hiss in response, and it’s an admirable effort. “Why are you here?”

“Ran into a man yesterday. Had his eyes gouged out. It was pretty gruesome,” the man says, though it’s obvious he’s probing Reaper for answers.

“What a shame,” is all he offers in response.

In a very surprising display of strength, Soldier 76 pushes up enough to catch Reaper off balance and he stumbles just slightly backwards. It’s enough, apparently, because the man is up and barreling into Reaper quickly, knocking him against a wall. He presses his forearm to Reaper’s neck in an effort to keep him there and angles it so his breathing is hindered just enough. The pressure is stronger than he would have thought possible for someone like 76.

Reaper isn’t the only one who had been underestimated, it would seem. By now, though, 76 has to have realized that he can’t stop Reaper from dissolving right out of his grip.

Reaper remains where he is, however. He can get something from this man before he kills him, probably. He is, after all, the second biggest nuisance to Talon after him.  76 growls, “I want answers.”

“This is a pretty bad approach. Most people begin with asking questions,” Reaper drones sarcastically. 76 doesn’t appreciate it, shoving his arm harder against his throat. He still hasn’t tried for his gun and Reaper is thrilled by the prospect that this person intends to fight him hand-to-hand.

“And here I thought you were a ruthless killer, not a comedian.”

Reaper laughs, low in his throat. So he isn’t here about the god thing, then. Good. “I’m on vacation. What do you want to know?”

There’s no promise that he’ll answer, of course. He doesn’t offer information freely, if at all. But he is curious to know what it is that he has to offer this man. As far as Reaper knows, 76 has no ties to Overwatch and his stance on Talon is obvious. Maybe he just has a overly aggressive sense of justice. Maybe Reaper has killed a lover of his.

“Why are you going after Overwatch agents?” The question is a little too forceful. So he does have ties to the organization after all. He’ll definitely have to kill the man, then. “You’ve already had it out for Talon. Whose side are you on?”

“There  _ are  _ no sides,” he growls right before he headbutts 76.

The man staggers back a few steps, and there’s no doubt that his nose is damaged under that mask. His visor is beginning to crack as well. Still, he retaliates with a palm strike to Reaper’s chin, just underneath the mask.

His teeth clack against each other with force and he snarls, jumping at the man. They both topple to the ground, but Reaper has the upper hand, knees pressed into 76’s shoulders just as he’s hitting the ground. That doesn’t stop the vigilante from clawing at his legs; and it  _ hurts _ . He’s far too strong for a man his age. Suspiciously strong. He draws a shotgun and presses it to the man’s temple.

“You’re a little too interested in my affairs. Why do you want to know?” Reaper demands. When no answer is forthcoming, he slides a finger over the trigger and hisses the question again, punctuating each word with a slam of the muzzle against the man’s temple.

He can feel 76 kicking at the ground behind him, trying to find purchase on the ground, but the soft dirt offers no leverage. 76 stills, eyes narrowing.

“It’s personal.” The answer is given reluctantly, ground out and muffled behind the mask. “They have answers that I need and I can’t  _ get  _ them if you keep killing them.”

“Mm.” He hums, light and whimsical, though it’s obvious in the way that his claws dig into the man’s shoulder that he’s still just as angry. “They weren’t very forthcoming with their answers. Maybe I saved you the trouble.”

“Maybe you had a bad approach,” 76 says snidely.

Reaper slides his hand from the man’s shoulder to his hair, yanking him up by it and then slamming his head back onto the ground. He snarls, “you aren’t exactly in a position to be making  _ jokes _ , Soldier.” Then, mockingly, “you should stick to small town thugs, old man. Overwatch is a little big league for you, don’t you think? Shouldn’t you retire to the countryside?”

“Soldiers don’t retire.” Reaper can’t see it, but he can feel the moment 76 gets determined again. No doubt he’ll try and throw Reaper off soon. He might just manage it, with the strength he’s been displaying. “There’s something I need to make right first.”

That’s all it takes to confirm Reaper’s suspicion. Of  _ course _ . His anger is tripled and he presses his hand roughly onto 76’s mask. The moment he does, the man begins to thrash his head from side to side in an effort to keep him from removing it. It doesn’t work.

“Of course you’re alive,” Reaper snarls. He’s more tense than he’s ever been and it takes all of his willpower not to kill this man all over again. Because, despite the age and scars and blood dripping down his nose, that is a face he knows intimately. “Jack Morrison. You’re supposed to be  _ dead. _ ”

“Didn’t take.”

Reaper laughs and it’s hollow and bitter. It drains the anger from him until all that’s left is a cold hatred. “You could never let me have  _ anything,  _ could you? Not even in death. Always getting the better end of the deal.”

76’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You were never this dense, Jack,” Reaper hisses. “I should have known it was you from the beginning. You always were such a boy scout. Soldier 76? How typical.”

“Gabriel.” The name is sharp on his tongue with the realization. Guilt and shock and relief all wrapped up in one sound. “How…?”

The sun is already beginning set so Reaper removes his own mask in turn. Jack doesn’t flinch at the sight of his face. In fact, he doesn’t even seem register it.

Leaning in closer, and without the filter of his own mask, Reaper can see that there’s a film over Jack’s eyes; baby blues clouded and dulled.

“You’re blind.” It’s nothing more than a statement of fact. It stirs something in him and he crushes it before it can even be made sense of. Jack only nods.

“Gabe, I--”

“Don’t!,” he yells, picking up Jack’s mask. “Do not call me that.”

He shoves the mask back onto his face. It isn’t hard to figure out what the visor is for.

And there’s the reaction he was waiting for. Genuine fear. Eyes wide behind the red glass. He takes the mask off again and lets it clatter to the ground, wanting to see the full extent of it. But then there’s a softening of Jack’s features, sadness and guilt stronger on his face than the fear was. Reaper  _ hates  _ it. “What happened to you?”

“You happened to me! Overwatch happened to me.”

“Gabe, what? I--”

Reaper shoves two claws into his mouth, keeping him from speaking while also leaving a threat of pain and death. “No. Here’s how this is going to work,  _ Jack _ . I am going to talk. You are going to listen. And then I’m going to kill you.”

Jack remains still.

“This _whole_ thing started with that fucking promotion. I ended a war, and you followed. You and I both know you shouldn’t have been given the honor, but you were and you took it. And, you know, I might have been angry but I was still going to support you. You were my… friend, after all. Except you apparently didn’t feel the same. You ignored me and you ignored Blackwatch. Did you even read the case files? Did you see what the UN was asking us to do?”

Jack shakes his head ‘no.’

“We weren’t just doing Overwatch’s dirty work, we were doing  _ theirs _ . We’d take someone out, thinking the problem would be resolved, and it would start a chain of events that got innocent people killed. Over and over. We were the ones causing all the political turmoil that Overwatch was supposed to be stopping and you said  _ nothing.  _ Swept us under the rug.

“And of course Talon had their hands in this. They have their roots in everything now, probably always had. There were so many double agents, people with sinister motives, that I began to wonder if anyone was ever sincere about this cause. It starts to make defecting sound like the better option, after a time, y’know?

“And then there was the mission outside of Dorado. The final straw. You told me I was a stain on the organization’s reputation and then you left me in the dirt to die.”

Jack jerks at that last sentence, something on his face seeming desperate. Reaper ignores it.

“And when I came back, by some miracle, I did some digging. There was so much incriminating evidence against so many people, it made me sick. I leaked it all to the public, and in the midst of the mayhem, a Talon operative approached me, offered me a chance to bring the whole thing crumbling down. Metaphorically and physically. She laid out her plan. Plant the bomb a few floors beneath the conference room in Switzerland during the conference. No one but the higher ups were going to be there, and they had already been exposed as frauds. I didn’t care at that point.”

“But you had to ruin it, just like you ruin everything else. You were never supposed to  _ be  _ there. You weren’t anything but a poster boy at that point, a pretty decoration to make Overwatch look good; you shouldn’t have been invited. And well, you know what happened after that”

His voice has become quiet at this point, a transition from the heat of the beginning of the story into confusion and the passiveness that comes with it. The memories of what he’s saying are still clouded, but he think he’s filled in the gaps well enough. The basic premise is still the same.

“I hadn’t realized the operative had planted another bomb in the barracks until it detonated. And now here we are. Both alive despite all odds.” He shifts his weight to add more pressure to where he’s kneeling on Jack. The cold hatred still runs beneath his skin. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take my fingers out, you’re going to grovel for your life, and I might just give you a painless death. A permanent one, this time.”

When he removes his fingers, instead of groveling he receives a shocked, “you haven’t seen them yet.”

The finger on the trigger of the shotgun tightens, and then relaxes. The notion that Jack has information that he wants but doesn’t have infuriates Reaper. He can’t leave it open ended. “Haven’t seen  **what** ?”

There’s a brief moment where he thinks Jack is about to let himself die rather than reveal his information, but then the soldier sighs. Annoyance and frustration tinges his voice when he finally speaks. “A hacker broke into Talon’s main systems about a year after the explosion at the Swiss base. The files they stole were released to the underground, but not too many people want to be hunted down by Talon for it so the files have been largely ignored. I heard out about them earlier this year, and got my hands on a copy only two months ago. Figured you would’ve found it by now, if you’ve been alive this whole time. There’s a lot in there that I think you’d want to read.”

“You don’t know anything about what I want,” Reaper snaps, but it’s weak even to his own ears. There’s no doubt that these are the same files he’d been chasing after this whole time. He’s so  _ tired.  _ “I should kill you right now.”

“I would deserve it,” comes the admission. It’s surprisingly honest for Jack: the stubborn jackass who was always too proud to admit own faults. It's confirmation; a justification of what Reaper wants to do. Of what he has been doing. Jack  _deserves_ it. And Reaper... Reaper can't kill him; can't even will himself to try.

Reaper growls as he stands, and while Jack is busy trying to reorient himself, he crushes his visor beneath his feet and then disappears.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and finally, jack joins the party.
> 
> i forgot a tag that's relevant but idk if i can add it without spoiling tomorrow's update??


	9. ix.

No one knows where the files are, and if they do they aren’t willing to say. He’s spent and wasted a whole other week on another useless project. There’s no saying if Jack had been telling the truth. He was stupid to have even believed him. Reaper is close to bringing an end to his search; weighing the pros and cons of doing so as he’s walking back to their hotel room, when Dolios flutters down to perch on his shoulder. It had been gone for two days. The bird is silent for once.

When he opens the door, he’s only mildly surprised to see Jack seated on the bed. God knows the man can’t leave stuff alone; never knows when to quit. Still, he’s here faster than Reaper had expected. “I see you didn’t fumble your way off a cliff. Pity.”

“You’re a real dick, you know that?”  He’s angry. An exasperated sort of anger, one you reserve for a friend who does something stupid, rather than a stranger who has slighted you. Reaper doesn’t like the familiarity of it, wants to stomp it out. “Do you know how much one of these costs?”

Reaper steps inside, pulling his gloves off and letting them fall and turn to smoke. His voice is terse. “You seem to be managing just fine.”

“Look--” Jack drags a hand over his face. The action is useless because of the mask but the meaning is the same. It’s then that Reaper notices his pulse rifle, propped up against the wall, far out of Jack’s reach. He’s trusting him. How very typical. He toys with the idea of killing him just to remove that notion. “I’m too old to be bickering with you. Here.”

Jack pulls a flashdrive out of his jacket and tosses it at Reaper, who catches it without thinking. He turns it over in his fingers; it’s solid black, both practical and unassuming. There’s no point in asking what’s on it. He already knows. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“I don’t expect you to. But I want you to hate me for the things I did do, not the ones you  _ think  _ I did.”

Reaper hums noncommittally, leaning against the dresser that’s across from the bed. “They’re one and the same.”

“They aren’t,” Jack insist with fervor. It seems he’s trying to get a point across that Reaper isn’t going to bother with. It’s not seen, but Reaper raises an eyebrow. His exclamation is followed by a much smaller, “I  _ did  _ love you, Gabe.”

It’s all too tempting to just kill him; end this. End the turmoil Jack seems to bring with him wherever he goes. But killing him would be the easy way out, and he knows he’ll never be able to go through with it. Reaper does not have the time or the patience for the conversation Jack’s trying to start, however. “I don’t have a computer.”

“I know,” he replies, sliding a bag out from behind him on the bed. “The bird told me.”

“Of course he did.” Traitor. No wonder Jack found him so quickly. An aside, “you seem to be handling the fact that he talks pretty well.”

_ Oh not at first. He tried to shoot me for a good five minutes. Even yelled a little bit.  _

“Oh? And here I thought you were a military man, Jack,” Reaper mocks snidely. Although, thinking back on it, the man had always hated animals. “A hardened soldier who’s seen too much war to be spooked by a little bird.”

Jack ignores them both in favor of removing a compact laptop from his bag, but Reaper can practically feel his scowl from over here. Reaper is tense, but wordlessly accepts the technology when it’s handed to him. It’s an old model. No surprise; although he has to wonder where he had even found the thing. “There’s a charger in the bag, too.”

Reaper sets the laptop down on the desk that’s wedged between the dresser and the closet. “Do you plan on sitting here the whole time while I read this?”

Dolios answers for him.  _ He and I are going out for a bit. I think he’ll enjoy the stories I have to tell him. _

Whether Jack had already been made known of these plans isn’t clear but he seems to take it all in stride. He stands and crosses the room, Dolios swooping to land on his shoulder on his way to the door. Reaper doesn’t look at him as he goes, but Jack’s stare is felt. 

Once the door is shut, he slumps against the dresser. Something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye and he and presses his hand to his mask in annoyance. “The stupid fucker left his gun.”

It’s not his problem, he decides. Jack held his own before Reaper, and he can do it now without him. He doesn’t care if the man gets killed for his own mistakes. This is a far more pressing matter, a culmination of all his efforts sitting just within reach. He’s been searching for these answers for far too long, and now he has them. He sits on the rickety wooden chair provided for him and holds up the flash drive.

And then he hesitates. Whatever is in these files, it’s going to have a large impact on him. There’s far too much cloak and dagger involved with these to think otherwise. Reaper isn’t sure, for a moment, if he wants to know anything. He could keep on his path of vengeance without seeing the things inside of the files, and it wouldn’t be any different than before.

Except it will. It already is different. Reaper can admit to himself, in the privacy of his room and with a weary emotional state, that he isn’t the same person he was when he first started out. If he was, he would have killed Jack on sight. Maybe even when he had approached him as Soldier 76.

He isn’t consumed by his desire for revenge anymore but is instead driven by it. In letting that happen, he’s become more of a person instead of a thing, a tool with only one purpose. Regardless of his feelings on this change, any attempt at going back to that has yet to succeed. 

Alleyway incident aside, he hasn’t done anything violent in at least a month.

“This is what you wanted, idiota. Open the computer,” he growls to himself, decision made. The flash drive is inserted maybe a little too forcefully.

The laptop starts up slowly, as if it hasn’t been in use for a while. The whirring of the fans is a sound he hasn’t heard in a long, long time and it’s almost nostalgic if not for the impatience such an old computer inspires. 

Once the desktop is finally shown, Reaper is quick to open the folder with the files before he can change his mind.  And there is  _ so _ much, terabytes of information that would take him forever to parse. But up at the top is a folder. Dated before the explosion. The name of the folder has been changed to ‘Gabe’ and Reaper has to wonder what Jack intended to do with these before he knew he was alive. He wonders how long Jack spent looking through these folders for this particular one. Too long, probably. Stubborn jackass. 

Reaper takes in a deep breath, opens it up, and selects the first document.

 


	10. x.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: kinda detailed torture and brainwashing

**Subject 49**

**Name: Gabriel Reyes** ****  
**Height: 1.85 m** ****  
**Weight: Unknown** ****  
**Age: [Redacted]** **  
** **Ethnicity: Hispanic**

**Subject has completed the Soldier Enhancement program. Physical health is above average. No conditions to consider. No permanent injuries. Does not cooperate. Violent. Subject is believed to be in an intimate relationship with Jack Morrison. No confirmation.**

******

**Log 001**

**01:13 Subject has been in captivity for 48 hours. Strong sedatives are needed, though they wear off within two hours. Work must be done in increments until subject can be pacified. Subject has sustained injuries to the areas around his restraints. Refuses medical attention. [Redacted] was attacked after approaching the subject to administer first aid.**

**03:20 Subject believes we want information from him. [Redacted] has instructed us to sustain that belief. Sedatives must be administered from a distance. Gas cannot be used.**

**04:10 Subject was moved into the sensory deprivation tank while unconscious. [Redacted] is monitoring to prevent drowning. AI chamber is being prepared.**

**07:00 Subject remains in the tank. Monitors show signs of life. Heart rate is accelerated. Sensors indicate the subject is attempting to escape.**

**08:05 Oxygen levels have been decreased.**

**09:01 Subject has gone unconscious from asphyxiation. He will be moved to [Redacted]’s lab.**

******

**Int1.vll**

**[A video feed, viewed from the side, displays Gabriel being restrained in an examination chair. Restraints are around his head, arms, torso, and feet. A man in a white lab coat stands before him holding a holographic tablet. Two guards stand behind him. One holds a tranquilizing gun. Gabriel is still and his eyes are unfocused.]**

**MAN: Do you know where you are?** **  
** **GABRIEL: (spits at the man)**

**[The video feed cuts off and resumes with a different time stamp, two hours later. Gabriel is still restrained. A bruise wraps around his neck. He is still again.]**

**MAN: Please do try to cooperate. Do you know where you are?** ****  
**GABRIEL: Talon.** ****  
**MAN: Very good. Do you know who you are?** ****  
**GABRIEL: Gabriel Reyes.** ****  
**MAN: And do you know how you got here?** ****  
**GABRIEL: (slowly, brow furrowed) No.** ****  
**MAN: Will you tell us about Overwatch?** **  
** **GABRIEL: (spits at the man once more)**

**[Video feed goes black and then ends.]**

**

**Log 003**

**14:43 Subject has been placed back into the sensory deprivation tank. Two days have passed since his first interrogation. Subject refuses to cooperate. Will not eat.**

**17:13 Subject remains in the tank. Will be removed to be force fed.**

**22:00 Subject is back in the tank. Reconstruction of Jack Morrison’s voice is almost complete.**

******

**Log 004**

**01:45 Voice reconstruction is complete. Subject remains in the tank. The process is beginning.**

**02:03 Subject is not responding to the voice. Aggression levels have been decreased.**

**03:14 Subject responds well to intimate conversation. Heart rate is slowed. No sign of struggle.**

**08:45 Subject has been moved to a holding cell to rest.**

******

**Int2.vll**

**[A video feed shows Gabriel back in the examination room, with lessened restraints. He isn’t struggling. The man in the lab coat is smiling.]**

**MAN: Do you know who you are?** ****  
**GABRIEL: Gabriel Reyes.** ****  
**MAN: Do you know who Jack Morrison is?** ****  
**GABRIEL: Strike commander.** ****  
**MAN: Do you know where you are?** **  
** **GABRIEL: Talon.**

**MAN: Do you know how you got here?** ****  
**GABRIEL: (hesitantly) I was sent here.** ****  
**MAN: Will you tell us about Overwatch?** **  
** **GABRIEL: (a minute later) Bite me.**

**[Video feed cuts off abruptly.]**

******

**Log 006**

**12:34 Subject is eating willingly. Subject is being influenced by the voice simulation. Possibility of reconditioning strong.**

**00:18 Subject more easily sedated. Subject has been moved back into the tank.**

**02:13 Aggression levels have been raised. Heart rate has increased.**

**03:20 Simulated conversation has been raised to hostile levels. Heart rate is rapid.**

**04:00 Subject is struggling greatly.**

**09:04 Subject has stopped responding.**

******

**Log 007**

**01:30 Subject has been removed from tank and placed in a holding cell. Will not react to outside stimulation or words.**

**02:45 Subject has not moved.**

**04:25 Subject has broken his hand. Will allow medical attention.**

**04:50 Subject does not require much restraint.**

******

**Int3.vll**

**[Gabriel is no longer in an examination cell. He is seated in an interrogation room. He has only handcuffs on. A cast is on his hand. He is visibly exhausted. Across from him is a woman. Her back is to the camera.]**

**WOMAN: Do you know who you are?** ****  
**GABRIEL: Why do you keep asking this?** ****  
**WOMAN: Please answer the question.** ****  
**GABRIEL: (sneers) Gabriel Reyes.** ****  
**WOMAN: And do you know where you are?** ****  
**GABRIEL: In an obnoxiously cold room.** ****  
**WOMAN: Hm. Do you know how you got here?** ****  
**GABRIEL: I was set up.** ****  
**WOMAN: By who?** ****  
**GABRIEL: (voice breaking) Jack Morrison.** ****  
**WOMAN: Will you tell us about Overwatch?** **  
** **GABRIEL: ...No.**

**[The woman stands and leaves the room. Gabriel is left seated at the table. He lays his head in his hands. The video feed cuts off.]**

******

**Log 009**

**18:09 Subject will soon be sedated and brought to the AI chamber. It has been tested and proves efficient. If all goes well, the reconditioning will be complete.**

**19:00 Subject has been sedated and sensors have been inserted. Will be moved to the chamber.**

******

**Log 010**

**12:43 Experiment was a success. Subject believes what was simulated in the chamber. A gunshot to the abdomen was administered for accuracy. Subject has passed out and is being escorted to the hospital wing.**

******

**Log 011**

**09:30 False memories have taken hold. Subconscious reprogramming is a success. Trigger phrase is [Redacted]. Subject can be manipulated.**

**11:14 Doctors believe the subject will awaken soon.**

******

**Hf.vll**

**[The video feed is of a hospital room. Gabriel is awake and lying in the bed. He has an IV in his arm and is in a hospital gown. The sun is filtering in through the windows. He doesn’t move until a nurse enters the room. The nurse checks his vitals and enters them into her datapad. Her face cannot be seen from this angle.]**

**NURSE: Can you tell me your name and date of birth, please?** ****  
**GABRIEL: Gabriel Reyes. November fifth, twenty-nineteen.** ****  
**NURSE: Well, Mr. Reyes, we were a little worried for a while there that you weren’t going to make it. You had already lost so much blood before [Redacted] brought you here.** ****  
**GABRIEL: Where am I?** ****  
**NURSE: Saint Anne’s hospital, in Dorado. I am a psychologist on call for this wing, and doctors are concerned you may have amnesia. Can you tell me what happened?** ****  
**GABRIEL: I was on a recon mission assigned to me by the Strike Commander. I got knocked out, wasn’t paying enough attention. Probably lost my team. I was taken by-- Well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know how long I was there.  
** **GABRIEL: Then Jack came. To rescue me, I thought. But when we got far enough away he told me the truth. I was a stain to the reputation of Overwatch and a liability. He only came to “rescue”  me to ensure I never make it back. He shot me and then left.** ****  
**NURSE: This seems to upset you a great deal. Were you intimate, with the Strike Commander?** ****  
**GABRIEL: (glances away) Yes. But not anymore.** ****  
**  
** **[The nurse stands and moves to the other side of the bed, leaning in closer to where Gabriel is lying. Her face still can’t be seen.]**

**NURSE: (white noise to cover what she says)** ****  
**GABRIEL: (goes limp)** ****  
**NURSE: Now, Gabriel. I’m going to need you to do something for me. Will you comply?** ****  
**GABRIEL: (nods)** ****  
**NURSE: Very good. Gabriel, you are going to go back to Overwatch. The only thing you will remember is what happened between you and Jack in Dorado. You will receive an email labeled [Redacted] after some time. You are to leak those files to the public. You will turn against the Commander. You will search for corruption in the ranks. Aside from the instructions given to you, you will behave the same way you used to before Dorado and await further instruction. Will you comply?** ****  
**GABRIEL: (nods)** **  
** **NURSE: (white noise to cover what she says)**

**[The video feed goes black.]**

**Final log**

**13:03 Subject is reconditioned. The experiment was a success.  
** ******19:14 Subject has been returned to Overwatch.**

 


	11. xi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyy, three chapter update because it felt too open ended with just the other two.

Reaper isn’t sure how he’s supposed to react. Reading the files is like looking into another person’s life through their own eyes. Reading a tragic book. 

The knowledge is there, he can practically feel it. But he can’t remember ever going through that. He supposes that was the point. He wants to remember, though. Even reading it, knowing it happened, isn’t enough. He wants his  _ memories  _ back. Those feelings.

And maybe he should be angry. In a detached sort of way, he is. He might be, later on. He still intends to take down Talon, after all. Right now, though, all he feels is numb. There’s no racing thoughts, no panic, no… anything. 

Actually, he feels separated from his own body.

He should leave. It’s probably what Jack and Dolios are expecting. But he won’t. Something should be happening that isn’t, he thinks. He leaves the computer open as he stands and crosses the room to sit on the bed. 

He lays down. 

 

And then Dolios is perching on his chest. 

_ Ah, there you are. We were wondering when you were going to come back. _

Reaper glances around, but he’s exactly where he was before. “I never left.”

_ Not physically, no. We’ve been here for over an hour, however. Jack thought you were asleep but I could sense that you were just simply. Not here.  So we’ve been waiting for you to come back. _

Reaper has no knowledge of the past hour or so; having assumed he'd only been lying there for a few minutes. The clock on the nightstand tells him otherwise. Jack is leaning on the edge of the desk now. The laptop is nowhere to be seen, and Reaper’s a bit glad for it. Jack’s mask is off and Reaper wonders if it’s to offer him a fraction of privacy, or to avoid the inevitable confrontation. Both, probably. The man shifts uncomfortably, visibly tense, and eyes averted despite the lack of vision. “How are you feeling?”

It’s such a stupid question that Reaper can practically feel Jack’s embarrassment welling up after he says it. “I’m not.”

“What kind of an answer--”   
  
_ On the contrary, you are feeling everything. All at once, it would seem. I suppose your mind is currently unable to handle it, and so it’s shutting the whole thing down.  _

“Not everything,” he says, sitting up. The room spins for a moment before settling. “I’m definitely feeling annoyed. Stay out of my head.”

Dolios hops from his chest onto the side of the bed.  _ I don’t need to be in your head. You project your thoughts and emotions all over the place. Very unprofessional. _

“My apologies.” Sarcasm is back, at least. Reaper is beginning to feel less like an empty husk with each passing moment. He’d rather go back to that than deal with the conversation he’s inevitably going to have with Jack, however. “I’ll pick up a pamphlet on it at the next god meeting.”   
  
_ So you do-- _ __  
__  
“No.”

Jack is still maskless, but silent. Reaper knows he probably wants to get the whole thing over with just as much as him. The two of them had never been the best with emotional communication. That was probably part of the problem. Jack steels his face, however, and stands up straight. Before he can speak, Reaper talks first.

“I am not having this conversation while I’m hungry,” he declares. It’s more of an excuse, than anything. He  _ is  _ hungry though. 

Jacks seems uncomfortable with the idea, shifting from foot to foot, but he doesn’t immediately try and stop him. Had Dolios told him? “Who are you gonna kill?”

Good question. It’s not like he can just go out and kill someone now. He has an annoying conscience in the form of a bird and an overly self righteous asshole with him. Hunting someone bad down would take too long.

_ You can eat human food as well, you know. _

“No, I did not know,” Reaper grits out. “Because you never told me.”

_ Well you never tried. You were killing people enough anyways, so I didn’t think it was relevant.  _

Reaper swipes at Dolios, but it flutters into the air before he can actually make contact. It lands on the desk next to Jack, as if thinking he’ll protect it. Jack actually shifts his body subtly, as if intending to do just that. “You are mind-blowingly insufferable. Both of you.”

_ Jack brought back burgers. They’re probably cold now, though. _

“You didn’t eat them?” he asks, more to keep the conversation light rather than out of genuine curiosity. 

“I ate mine. These are for you.”

_ I told Jack you can eat human food. He says you like fried pickles. _

He does; a surprising thing that had stuck with him even through death. And he likes them enough that he isn’t going to try and strangle the conniving, feathery asshole sitting on the desk. Jack reaches behind himself and feels around for a moment. Dolios seems to take pity on him and grabs the paper bag he’s looking for in his talons, bringing it over to Reaper. (Who already removed his mask. He really likes fried pickles.)

The food is cold. Reaper can’t feel heat, but the sogginess of the pickles is enough to indicate it. That doesn’t stop him from eating everything within five minutes of opening the bag. The taste is a little bit dulled, but it's there; and he finds he actually  _missed_ the taste of god awful, greasy food.

After he’s crumpled the bag with the wrappers inside and tossed it at Jack’s face, he feels more ready to talk. “Go ahead, boy scout.”

The nickname still makes him scowl, even after all these years. He gets over it quickly, however, and places his mask back onto his face. How brave. “You’re handling this pretty well.”

It’s not the start Reaper was expecting, but it’s also not something he wants to hear or discuss. “What, hoping to see me cry?”

“Half expected you to trash the room, honestly.” He looks away. “Also expected you to attack me again.”

“I’ve grown fond of this little hell hole.” Reaper plucks at the bedding beneath him. “You didn’t have your mask on. I don’t fight old, blind men.”

“Gabe.” It’s exasperated and frustrated. It’s a tone he used to lecture the unit with after someone went out, got wasted, and did something stupid. Reaper really doesn’t like it being directed at him, but he doesn’t want to keep going in circles with this conversation either. “Just-- Can we actually talk about this?”

“ _ Fine _ ,” he grinds out between his teeth, annoyed and not wanting to be here. 

Jack shifts, looks uncomfortable, and then shifts again. Reaper can tell he wants to talk first but he also knows the man hates having to admit things about himself. Especially when they’re his faults. He’s going to let him wallow in it, rather than prompt him with a question.

“You were right,” is what he gets, after a few more seconds of delaying. Definitely not what he was expecting. Not so soon.

“Well, you’re already off to a good start,” Reaper says, knowing Jack hates being interrupted. He gets a scowl for his efforts. “Tell me, what was I right about, exactly?”

“Everything,” comes the reply. Jack holds up a hand before Reaper can interrupt to no doubt ask him to specify. “I… shouldn’t have been given that promotion. They said I was a better leader because I inspired the troops more, but that had never been true. You had everyone’s respect, far more than I did. The UN shouldn’t have given me the promotion, and I shouldn’t have accepted it. But I did, and I let it get to my head.”

When Reaper says nothing, Jack reluctantly continues. It’s obvious in his voice and posture that this is something he doesn’t want to say, but knows he has to. “I didn’t know about Blackwatch. The reports you had written or submitted to me were either rewritten or watered down before they got to me. But I also never bothered to actually look into what you guys were doing, and I didn’t ask; that was my fault. I didn’t listen to you when you told me there were things happening, that people were going corrupt or had already been.

“When you went missing in Dorado, I sent as many agents to find you as I could allow but no one could locate you. I even went, after a time. But you were just  _ gone _ .” 

(His voice breaks on the last word and it startles Reaper. Is this still something that gets to him?)

“You were missing for two weeks, and then suddenly you were in Gibraltr, strolling in as if nothing happened. When anyone asked you about it, you refused to talk. Said you didn’t remember. I should have dug deeper into it.

“You refused to go near me after that. Wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t even go near my office. The only time I saw you was when you were required to be near me. If you somehow ended up by me unofficially, we’d argue for hours. Fight. You’d go missing for a day or two and always came back angry. And then I started hearing rumors that you were talking to your men, telling them about the things going on. And they saw it. They were angry along with you. So when you leaked the files, it was practically the end of Overwatch right there. Half the people either hated me, the organization, or were from Talon at that point; civilians were protesting, and any attempt at reconciling things was useless. And I… I gave up. I let it happen. I was willing to let Overwatch die, then and there. I didn’t think it would end so literally.

“You don’t remember anything about Switzerland other than planting the bomb, right?” 

Reaper nods but doesn’t speak. Jack seems to hesitate, maybe hoping he’ll say something, but when he doesn’t, he continues.

“I saw you, before you did it. There was fighting in the barracks and the western wing. I was on my way to the conference hall to try and figure out a way to settle things before someone got killed. We were already under investigation, and I didn’t want any more violence. I saw you talking with a woman. I’ll admit, the only reason why I stopped was because I was jealous. I had still loved you, and it hurt to see you standing so close to her. She said something to you I couldn’t hear and handed you something. 

“After that, you were-- You were like a robot. You stormed right past me on your way to wherever you were going. Didn’t even seem to register that I was there. I thought I should leave you be, but I was concerned. Your eyes had looked so dead. 

“By the time I found where you had went, your bomb had already been set up. I didn’t see it, but you were adamant about keeping me out of the room so I suspected. I didn’t want to believe you’d do something like that, but I tried to fight my way inside, anyways. It, uh. Didn’t end well on my part. You had always been so heavy handed, quicker than I ever was. 

“So I shot you in the leg. That, out of everything I had been through up until that point, was the hardest thing I ever had to do. But I guess it didn’t matter. Before I could even move, the bomb was detonated; but it was right below us, in the barracks. They had given you a fake, knowing I would go after you instead of the woman.

“I don’t remember much. I watched you burn. And then everything went dark. I don’t even know how I made it out, but I did. And you didn’t.”

There’s a long silence between them, Reaper processing what he’s been told and Jack recomposing himself. “It’s a touching story, but still not what I want to hear.”

There’s the incredulous anger he was hoping for. Jack looks as if he’s about to explode with a lecture on the tip of his tongue, but then he looks down and sighs in frustration; and then all the tension leaves him. “I’m sorry, Gabe. I really am."

“Take off your mask,” Reaper demands, standing to approach him. 

Jack starts at that, confusion obvious. He leans back from Reaper when he gets a little too close. “Why do you--?”

“Take. Off. Your. Mask.”

After a few seconds of hesitation Jack complies, pressing his fingers into the sides of his mask to release it and then pulling it off. He’s probably expecting Reaper to hit him. It’s tempting, for a second, but the feeling passes. Instead he reaches up, gloveless, and places his hands on Jack’s cheeks. Jack recoils at the cold, but doesn’t try and remove his hands.

“You’re crying,” Reaper says quietly but without feeling, thumbs swiping over where his cheeks are still wet. Jack exhales heavily through his nose and then nods. “You’re a jackass.”

Jack nods again.

“I still hate you.”

He stiffens at that, and presses his lips together, but he nods all the same. Reaper lets go of his face to allow the other man to put his mask back on. “Go away for a few hours. I want to think about this without you in the room.”

It’s late in the night. There probably isn’t a place that Jack can go without looking suspicious, but Reaper’s sure he’s resourceful enough to manage. Jack looks to Dolios as if for help or advice, but the owl shakes its head. He doesn’t say anything, just slides past Reaper and heads out the door.

When they’re alone, Reaper nearly crumples onto the bed, barely managing a slightly more dignified sag instead. Dolios remains where it is.

_ That was cruel. You don’t hate him. _

Reaper shakes his head. “I don’t.”

_ Why did you tell him that? _ __  
__  
“I don’t have those memories of him like he has of me. I don’t… remember what it was like beforehand, when we were together. All I get when I think of him is anger and betrayal. If I can’t ever remember, it would be more cruel to lead him on like that.”

_ That’s surprisingly compassionate of you.  _

“I’m a little out of sorts right now. I’ll go back to being an emotionless asshole later.”

_ I’m not supposed to interfere like this, but… I can help you regain those memories. _

“How?” He intends for the question to come out more forceful than it does. He’s been given a lot to process today, and it's left him feeling wrung out and weary. Weak.

_ With a little magic. Or rather, by reversing the conditioning that was done to you. _

His question is skeptical this time. “You can do that?”

_ Yes. There are rules about interfering with certain aspects of mortals’ affairs but, well. You aren’t exactly a mortal anymore. I would have offered sooner, if I had known about this. _

Dolios sounds remorseful, maybe a little bit more than the situation calls for. There isn’t much blame that can be placed on it, this time. Reaper considers the offer.

He already knows what actually happened in Dorado, having read it; but his memories of his life beforehand are hazy. If he tries to think about what he and Jack had been, he gets too angry to really remember anything. Even memories of his family are hollow, lacking the feelings they should bring about. All he really remembers is his hatred of Jack, his hatred of Overwatch; and more recently, his hatred of Talon. There’s a lot of anger there, apparently. It’s what he’s been made of and fueled by this whole time, after all.

If he had never lost his memories, he wonders how things would have played out. Even if he'd still became Reaper, would he have gone after the people the way he did? Probably not. He and Jack may have still fought, Overwatch may have still fallen. It doesn’t bear thinking about, now. The past can’t be changed. 

His main concern is what will happen to him in the present if his memories are restored. Being Reaper is all he knows. It’s who he’s comfortable as. The bits that were softer could have been Gabriel, but they also could have just been him. Maybe both.

“I don’t want to lose myself,” he admits. There’s no point in hiding his thoughts. Dolios can sense them, and they’re necessary to the conversation at this point.

_ There is nothing to lose, only to gain. You are half of a person, right now. If I restore your memories, and you want to continue on as you are now anyways, Jack doesn’t need to know. Do you think you were the type of person who would let go of something like what happened to you? _

“No.” The answer is immediate, and he believes it to be true. Nothing about his hatred of Talon will change. It’s everything else that is the problem. 

_ You’re afraid.  _ The statement isn’t an accusation or a taunt. 

Reaper isn’t comfortable with this whole thing. It’s a lot of change to go through, and he doesn’t even know how he’ll come out in the end. Does he want to remember what Talon did to him?  Does he really want to face the guilt of what he did? Does he want those memories of Jack to be returned? A part of him does, at least. The man had been sincere in both his admissions and his apology. 

Maybe he at least owed him that much. Jack probably wouldn’t think so.

“I am.”

_ Ultimately, the decision is yours. If you want my opinion, although you never do, I think you will come out of this even stronger. _

“Never took you for a motivational coach,” he mutters.

_ Is that not what I have been doing this whole time? _

It is. Annoying, conniving, and nosey as it has been this whole time, Dolios has helped him a lot. Actually, until this point, he had never felt grateful. Or even acknowledged what it has done for him. Why? “I’m an asshole.”

_ You are. _

“Thank you.”

Dolios tilts its head to the side, then its feathers ruffle up.  _ You are welcome. _

Even if he’s unsure about what will happen after this, he trusts Dolios. Enough that he comes to a firm decision. “Restore them.”

_ Are you sure?  _

“Yes.” 

_ Very well. Lie back on the bed and close your eyes. Yes, you have to. This may hurt, for a moment, and then you will fall unconscious. Your memories will not play out in front of you like a movie, but when you wake back up they will be there, and you will be able to reflect on them. I’ll only ask this once more. Is this something you want to go through with? _

Reaper lays on the bed and closes his eyes. “Yes.”

There’s an agonizing pain.

 

And then there’s nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh! i wanna say thank you to everyone who's commented or left kudos so far! i try to reply individually, but i get nervous and sometimes don't. so. thank you! it's really appreciated :)


	12. xii.

“Fuck!”

_ That’s promising.  _

His head  _ hurts _ . Reaper (Gabriel?) presses a hand to his forehead and when his fingers brush against his mask, he remembers where he is and what he had been doing before. It’s more of an “oh, yeah” moment than a sudden return of memories, but it's still a bit jarring. He sits up and the room spins violently as sharp pain courses through his head once again. He lets out a long stream of Spanish, too quick for either one of the other two to understand, but his point is still made. “What the  _ fuck _ , Dolios? You didn’t mention the after pain.”

_ Oh, didn’t I? My mistake. _

“Listen to me,  cabrón--” his sentence is cut short when he finally catches sight of Jack out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head to look at him. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Jack echoes back. He doesn’t exactly look nervous. Maybe anxious. His body language is definitely tense. Reaper (Gabriel??) isn’t sure how long he was out, but it was long enough that Jack shouldn’t still be hovering by the door like he might bolt at any second. “Gabe--”

“You are  _ so  _ stupid, Jack. What the hell?” He says it fondly, though Jack doesn’t look sure of how he should take the sentence.

“Did I... do something?”

“Yes, jackass. Stop standing there like I’m going to throw you out and come hug me.”

Jack glances at Dolios.

_ He won’t kill you. I think. _

And that’s the thing that gets him to move, because of course it is. But when he moves, he does it quickly, crossing the room in long strides and practically falling into--... Gabriel. His arms wrap around him as best as they can, given his tentatively solid state, and Gabriel does the same. 

“You’re cold,” Jack mutters into his chest.

“You’re old,” Gabriel returns. He slides a hand over Jack’s hair. “You’ve gone beyond gray, guerro. Mm. Never really liked blonds, anyways.”

“I know what that means now, Gabe.”

Gabriel honestly can’t hold in the laughter that bubbles up at that statement. He tries, hoping to maybe spare Jack’s feelings, but it happens. “Yeah? Where’d you learn it?”

“Around,” he mutters. “Got called it a lot, actually.”

“I’m sure they meant it nicely,” Gabriel coos patronizingly. He has a lot of riling Jack up to do if he wants to catch up. No doubt Jack is about to bark something back at him, but Gabriel shoves at his shoulders. “Alright, alright. This is getting too sappy. Get off me.”

Jack does, and his eyebrows are furrowed in a scowl when his face comes back into view. “I missed you, you dick.”

“Oh? How much?” The mask may muffle it, but the purr in his voice is still heard. Jack goes completely red under his mask, blush rising all the way to his hairline. Incredible. “Ah, that still gets to you?”

_ Alright, alright. I have no interest in seeing him try to attempt to make out with you, Reaper.  _

“Gabriel,” he corrects. Then adds, “Reaper is my stage name.”

“God,” Jack groans, already beginning to reach his limit of tolerance for Gabriel’s innuendos. “You are so--”

_ How are you feeling then, Gabriel? _

He takes a moment to parse his thoughts. Underneath his overwhelming feelings about Jack rushing at him, there’s still more. He doesn't necessarily feel like a new person, so much as a whole one. There's parts of him he'd either forgotten about or had shoved away so precisely that they were basically gone. He feels less.... confined. Happier, in a way. “Less angry. At other people,” he amends. “Still going to kill people.” At Jack’s look, he adds, “only a little bit. Talon agents are as good as dead but Overwatch-- I guess it’s enough to just terrify them into obscurity.” 

Jack rolls his eyes and Gabriel shrugs. Grudgingly, Jack concedes, “it’s something, at least. Figured you'd go after them, even with your memories.”

_ Speaking of Overwatch. Jack, there was something you wanted to do, yes? _

“Yeah…” He stops hovering near Gabriel, instead opting to sit next to him on the bed. “I had planned on going to the recall. I don’t want to rejoin Overwatch. Think it’s a waste, honestly, and I’m way too old now. But I wanted to go clear your name.”

Gabriel says nothing. For so long that Jack actually begins to worry if it was the wrong thing to have brought up. But, barely, minutely, he can see Gabriel’s shoulders shaking. Jack leans in and squints. “Are you crying?”

Gabriel shoves him away gently, and turns his face so Jack can’t see it; despite the fact that he’s wearing a mask. “No.”

_ He is. _

“Traitor,” he mutters. There are no tears, but the feeling is there. “I can’t even cry.”

“Take off your mask, then,” Jack challenges. Gabriel reaches for it, but pauses. “I’ve already seen your face. It’s not nearly as bad as that time we were rock-climbing and you went face first into a beehive.”

“Do you really want to start dragging out embarrassing stories, guerro, cause I have a  _ lot  _ on you, you lightweight.” Jack’s silence confirms his victory. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

Still, he takes the mask off without any more hesitance. As promised, there are no tears. Jack’s eyebrows furrow, but there’s no real sign of fear this time when he looks at his face. There's a bit of confusion, maybe even assessment. As if he's trying to figure something out. “Which mouth do you eat with?”

“Both?” He hadn’t actually thought about it earlier, and now he has no recollection of what went down. It’s a strange question to ask, out of all the possible ones. “Is that somehow relevant to this or are you trying to distract me so I don’t make fun of you for being such a bleeding heart in your old age?”

“I’m not a bleeding heart,” Jack says firmly. Gabriel is willing to concede that to him, so he nods. “I just figured I owed you that much.”

Gabriel hums. “You owe me a lot more than that, Jack.” His face (faces) are serious this time, humor giving way to hurt. “I’m still mad at you for everything.”

“I expected as much. I did wrong by you, Gabe.” Jack rubs a hand against the back of his neck, an old habit that apparently hasn’t been broken. 

“You did wrong by a lot of people, Jack. I know you’ve realized it by now, but you hurt a  _ lot  _ of people under your leadership. Intentional or not.”

Jack nods curtly. “I did.” 

“You were a bad leader.”

Jack flinches at that, but he still nods. “I was.”

“You’re already trying to make it up to me, but how had you planned on making it up to everyone else?” Gabriel sets a hand on Jack’s knee. He’s angry, and Jack has seriously hurt him and other people, but he isn’t trying to make him feel like shit. Not completely.

“I.. don’t know,” Jack admits. “I thought maybe clearing out small town gangs'd do something, but in the long run, nothing changes.

“You sound like someone’s jaded grandpa.” Gabriel hums, low in his throat, but he can admit that Jack has a point. It isn’t really an easy thing to do, fixing the world that you helped destroy. “Come after Talon with me.”

“Gabe, I’m too old--”

“Shut up. You tried to kill me last week,  estúpido . I’m not buying that bullshit.” And he has a point. Jack knows it, Gabriel knows it. Dolios definitely knows it. He pats Jack’s leg. “Anyways, even if you are too old, I’m dragging you along with me. Someone has to hold you accountable, and we have a lot of talking we need to do.”

Jack sighs in resignation. “If we aren’t going to the recall, I at least want to tell Winston that we aren’t dead and forward him the files.”

“He’ll cry,” Gabriel points out. He isn’t opposed to the plan. A little wary and not actually sure how that whole ordeal will pan out. There's a bit of concern there that they might actually come after the two of them, for whatever reason. To take Gabe into custody? To try and recruit Jack? The first option isn't likely to pan out well, should they choose to go that route.

“He will definitely cry,” Jack says in agreement. 

The room goes silent for a moment. It’s not tense or uncomfortable, but there are things that need to be said hanging in the air. It’s not the time for those, however. The two of them are willing to savor this moment of happiness before they re-open old wounds and possibly bring about some new ones. Gabriel, at least, is willing to forego the mess of feelings for another week or so. He's had about enough of... everything, really. A lot of things have happened so quickly, and he still needs to reflect back on all of the memories he's regained. Even the thought of this is a little too overwhelming at the moment.

_ Well! Now that that’s settled, how about some rest, gentlemen? You both look as if you could use it. _

Jack glances around the room and huffs. “Not in this place.”

“This place is cheap,” Gabriel explains, as if feeling the need to defend the place from Jack’s judgement. “She’s supported me through this.”

“I will pay for the place,” Jack insists. He looks worried and Gabriel doesn’t need to guess why. Jack could never tell when Gabriel was being serious or telling a joke, sometimes. A fact that Gabriel used to exploit for some seriously hilarious pranks. Probably thinks Gabriel genuinely wants to stay in the stink pit. 

Gabriel places his mask back on and stands, stretching out despite not really needing to. A habit from when he was alive, he supposes; one he's picked back up. “You used to be so frugal. Never could get you to buy me dinner.”

“Because you ate me outta house and home the only time I did.” Jack stands as well. Ah, yeah. He remembers that. Had he known it was a date and that Jack intended to pay for the whole meal, he probably wouldn't have ordered as much as he did. “Besides, this place smells like piss even through my mask and I don’t like roaches.”

“Yeah, alright. Pick your poison, old man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh!! you guys are so nice omg! <3


	13. xiii.

Winston, sadly, does not cry; although it’s a close call. Instead, he lectures them in a video conference that Jack insisted they have. It feels a lot like having disappointed your dad. It took a whole month for Jack to organize this, keeping Gabriel from running off to fight on his own once he got anxious again. It almost isn’t worth the effort just to have pissed Winston off. Well, as much as Winston could be pissed off while eating a jar of peanut butter that they had sent him.

Other than the first part, however, the rest of the conference is pretty smooth. Winston promises to get the story out about Gabriel, and tries to get them to rejoin Overwatch no less than five times. They refuse each time but promise to stay in touch and out of trouble. (Gabriel crosses his fingers at that last part.) 

When everything's said and done, The two of them flop onto their (apartment’s) bed, and stare at the ceiling. Dolios is sleeping on top of their dresser. It’s disgustingly domestic; a little too much for Gabriel’s tastes, but Jack seems to enjoy it enough and it’s easier than buying a hotel room. He doesn’t plan on it being like this for very long, anyways. A break, for a few moments, is fine.

“What’s the plan?” Jack asks an hour later, voice rough from talking most of the day.

Gabriel assumes he means for the rest of the day so he answers, “we could order pizza.”

“Yes,” Jack says, because while he didn’t mean in the short term, there is never not a time for pizza. “But I meant with Talon. Where do we go from here?”

“Fuck if I know.” That’s all he offers, until Jack elbows him in the side. “You make the plan, Commander.”

“Be serious, Gabe.” Jack still hates being called that. If Gabriel does it enough, it usually puts him in a foul mood for a day or two. 

Oh, now he’s being chided. “I’m serious! Up until you showed up my plans had been to steal the files from Talon (which you gave me), and sabotage the recall (which I am no longer allowed to do). It’s not like I can just go around killing every Talon member in the world (which was also a plan of mine, but it isn’t realistic). I’ve been trying to think of somethin’ other than running in guns blazing but...”

_ I have a suggestion.  _

Neither one bothers to lift their heads to look at Dolios. Gabriel makes a noise of dissatisfaction. “Is this about the god thing?”

_ It is absolutely about the god thing. _

“I thought that was over with,” Jack complains. Gabriel seconds the sentiment.

_ On the contrary, it has grown into a bit of a phenomenon. Word,  apparently got out about a little girl you saved. You have a larger following now that you’ve stopped blatantly killing people. _

“Who would’ve thought,” Gabe says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why are you bringing it up again?”

_ It’s why I’m here in the first place. I thought you would have figured it out by now, at least. _

“Care to elaborate?”

Dolios coos softly and then comes to land on Gabriel’s chest.  _ Let me ask you this first: What makes a god to you? _

Gabriel frowns. The question still bugs him, even now. It’s not really something he’s sure how to answer. Jack remains silent beside him and offers no input of his own, so he can’t exactly phone in a friend. “I don’t know,” he grits out from between clenched teeth. Then, to try and end the conversation, he adds, “I’m an atheist.”

Jack snorts beside him; a quick and simple sort of laugh that undermines any believability the statement may have had. Dolios seems willing to humor him, however.

_ Regardless, they exist. _

“I don’t see what you’re getting at here.” Dolios brushes a wing against its face. Exasperation, maybe?

_ Are you always this dense or is it just with this subject? _

“No, he’s dense,” Jack quips. “Should’ve seen how long it took him to realize I was flirting with him.”

Under his breath, Gabriel mutters, “you’re just bad at flirting.” The statement goes ignored.

_ Like I said early on in our encounter, I cannot reach your conclusions for you and there are certain things I’m not permitted to say just yet. But I can very heavily imply them. Multiple times, in fact. I can even throw evidence and examples in your face. Unless you  _ **_ask_ ** _ me, I can’t say. _

“You’re saying I’m a god,” Gabe replies flatly.

_ That isn’t a question. _

A put upon sigh, a hand run over his maskless face (having decided that there’s no need to wear one outside of the public eye), and then a surrender. “Are you saying I’m a god?”

_ I’m heavily implying it, yes. You were deified.  _

“And you’re serious?” His tone is still pretty dead with disbelief but he’s at least inflecting them as questions, and that’s about all the effort he’s willing to put forth for this.

_ Very much so. _

Gabriel struggles for words, a few syllables coming out but not forming anything coherent. “How would you even know that?”

_ Well, I am one. So I’m privy to that sort of knowledge. _

“You’re a god.” This one is a statement, said in monotone. Dolios swats a wing at his face and he sighs. “You’re a god?”

_ Yes. _

“You.”

_ Yes. _

“A god.”

_ I am not going to repeat myself again.  _

Gabriel runs both hands over his face now. He briefly considers grabbing Jack’s and adding them to the mix. This is-- He doesn’t even know what this is, at this point. Annoying. Overwhelming. Not really all that believable. “How?”

_ How, what? _

“How did I end up like this? How am I supposed to be sure? Can you even prove it?”

The questions are a bit rapidfire, but he’s honestly struggling to even contemplate the idea that this could be true. Maybe if he turns over and presses his face into the pillow hard enough, people will stop talking to him.

_ I can prove it. You cannot be sure, unless you choose to be and then trust in that decision. As for the last part, I can’t tell you in great detail. You had died very brutally, and your death and the events leading up to it had caused a great bit of disturbance in the world. A… certain god did not appreciate the damage that this would inevitably cause and decided to send you back to fix it. _

_ They were hasty in their decision, and harsh in their words. They offered you no knowledge of what you needed to do. Eventually, you were destined to fail. I, however, had taken a liking to you. You are a very complex person, Gabriel, and I enjoy challenges. I saw potential in you, and I wanted to see that carried out. So, I decided to help you.  _

_ Technically, I staked a claim on your fate and soul. In the long run, it doesn’t mean much. It keeps anyone else from interfering and whatever you do, I take responsibility for until you come into your own. Although, I had hoped to mentor you early on. You’re… very stubborn. _

“You can say he’s an ass,” Jack offers.

_ Indeed. You’re an ass. If you had figured it out sooner and accepted the title, this probably would have been a lot easier. _

“You called me Child of Cain,” Gabriel says slowly, the memory forming in his mind as the words come out. “What did that even mean?”

_ As I’ve stated before, I mostly repeat your own thoughts and feelings back at you. The comparison was yours, not mine. I thought it was rather creative of you, actually.  _

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Gabriel starts. “Assuming, hypothetically, that this is all true, you’re a god. I’m a god. Jack is…?”

_ A mortal. He never died. _

“Right. Okay.” He groans again in frustration. “Why did this all have to happen at the same time. Can’t I take a sabbatical before someone decides to just come in and shake up my entire worldview  _ and  _ life?  _ Again _ . Space them out. I’m still trying to get over all the shit that’s happened this year, don’t add to the pile.”

_ Only one of those things was planned. Everything else was inconveniently timed, if not necessary.  _

“And now what?” This question is asked by Jack, and it startles the other two; who had forgotten he was still in the room at this point.

_ Now, Gabriel can either accept the title and work from there, or reject it and carry on. Regardless of whether the title is accepted, however, he will still remain a god. _

“Hey, woah. You still haven’t proven it to me yet.”

Dolios is silent for a moment. 

_ What is something you think a god should be able to do that a human cannot? _

“Bless people?”

_ Blessings can be given by humans to one another. A simple wish for someone’s safety can be considered so. _

Gabriel frowns. “Raise the dead.”

_ Perhaps, decades ago. It is something humans have also achieved now. I believe your Doctor Ziegler is a pioneer in the field. _

The mention of Angela bring back fond memories. She had always been a sweet girl, with good intentions. She was clumsy, and made mistakes. But she was a genious, and passionate about helping others. The team had sort of adopted her as their collective child along with Jesse and Fareeha. He wonders, fleetingly, where they are now.

_ Gabriel? _

He nods his head to show that he’s listening. “Something big, I guess. If I’m a god, shouldn’t I be able to hear my worsh…ip... Wait.  _ Wait.  _ You started those rumors, didn’t you? That whole time you were gone! That was you, wasn’t it?”

_ Indeed. It was intended to speed things along. I didn’t do anything other than put the idea into words online. You have a divine presence. Eventually, they would have turned to you anyways. _

“God,” he growls. “You are  _ so  _ infuriating.”

_ It’s in my nature. Also, I enjoy it. As to your question, have you ever tried to hear them? _

“No.” 

_ I suppose you could as you are now, if you concentrated enough. That would come more easily with the title. _

“Why do I have to have a title?” He wants to go back to sleep. Dream this whole thing away for a few hours. Maybe spar with Jack. He’s getting overwhelmed again, and craving at least a day of something mundane and simple. Punching things is really simple.

_ Right now you’re only considered a minor god, nothing more than a footnote in a future history book. The title affords you the power you’d need to rise to complete godhood. You cannot be a true god, unless you consider yourself one. It's simply how this works. _

“I don’t want to.” It sounds more petulant than he would have liked. He offers a sneer to go along with it. A middle finger for flare.

_ So you have said. Now here’s where this is all relevant to your mission. You, alone, are not enough to take down Talon yourself. I think you realize this. Even with the powers you do currently have, it would take years to uproot the weeds in society and they would simply grow back. Perhaps someplace else. Jack, no offense, isn’t going to be of any help. _

Jack grunts in agreement.

_ As a god, it’s frowned upon to greatly mess with human affairs. But this is what you were tasked to do when they sent you here, and I’m going to exploit that loophole and call it divine retribution. Even with that, it still wouldn’t be enough. You need people, Gabriel, and lots of them. You already have a following and if you continue to make your presence known, they will only multiply. _

“I’m not gonna make a bunch of kids storm the castle with me,” Gabriel snaps, very firm in this point. 

_ Not all of them are children. Even so, there’s no need to make them fight. Humans are resourceful. Have them call out the corruption in their local government. Have them boycott businesses who violate human rights. Incite protests. _

“Protests never end well.”

_ So protect them. Talon is the weed, but passivity is the soil it’s been planted in. If you truly want Talon gone, chase them out of this world. Make it a place they have no power in, that they can’t control. You can kill individuals, but let them kill the system.  _

“That was… very specific,” Gabriel states. It was also passionate and inspiring, truth be told. Already, the thought of it is beginning to sway his opinion on the ordeal. Fuck yeah, anarchy.

_ It’s a cycle humans go through. There’s always one large problem that needs to be taken down, and the remains of it carry on into the next cycle. It collects, it repeats. It rarely gets fixed. But these are very obvious steps to take. It’s been the most effective ones in the past. _

Gabriel considers it for a moment. Dolios has a point, and a strong one at that. He has the opportunity and the means. He’s also, apparently, supposed to do it anyways. “And you can’t ungod me?”

_ I can’t ungod you. _

Still, he’s reluctant. “I said it before, I don’t want that kinda power over people.”

_ You have it regardless. Simply don’t abuse it. _

“Are you seriously complaining about getting to be a god, Gabe?” Jack chimes in once more with his unwanted voice and opinion. He sounds more amused than anything else but it still makes Gabriel bristle. 

“What, would you like to take over for me?” he snaps back. “Go right the fuck ahead!”

Jack rolls his eyes. “I could stand to lose some of this joint pain. Being old  _ sucks _ , Gabe. Feel free to pass it along.”

It’s so ridiculous. Out of all the things they've been fighting over this past month, this is easily the stupidest. The tension between them is already building, clouding the atmosphere. Gabe may actually try and fight him right here. (This has been a very, very common thing these past weeks, them fighting furiously over little things.) Dolios hops between the two of them and presses a wing to each one’s cheek.

_ Stop it. You’re behaving like children. _

“Okay,  _ dad. _ ” Gabriel snipes. He receives a mouth full of feathers in retaliation. 

_ I know it was a joke, but god status can’t be given to a living mortal without very serious effort and it is very rarely given to the dead. Most of us just simply are, or had been destined to be. _

“There are more of you?” Gabriel asks incredulously. 

_ More than is probably known to humanity. It shouldn’t surprise you. _

“Well it does. Until about ten minutes ago I hadn’t even thought you guys existed, so.”

Dolios ignores him in favor of facing towards Jack.

_ If you really wanted, Gabriel could make you his consort. _

Gabriel chokes on the air he snorts in when he starts to laugh, wheezing it out instead. It’s a really loud laugh, echoing through the room and bouncing off of the walls. “What, seriously?”

_ You love each other, do you not? _

 

“I guess, but…” Gabriel trails off. (" _I guess_?!," Jack parrots back incredulously.) He isn’t even really sure what a consort is, other than the vague implication that it has to do with sex. “Why?”

_ It is a status that can be granted. Beloved to a god. Consorts are given the right to remain at a god’s side, should they want it. Immortalizes you, in a way. _

“Immortal?” Jack chokes, sounding overwhelmed. They can start a club after this. The "What the Hell Is Going On Anymore" club. They'll get leather jackets, the whole deal. God knows Jack needs a new one.

_ Time for gods is not linear. When you are a god, you exist at all points in time simultaneously, and in many locations. We don’t… It’s hard to explain in human terms. What I am currently doing is in the present. What I did 50 years ago is also occurring at this very moment, but in a different point in linear time. I know and feel both things, I am in both places simultaneously, and yet they aren’t the same. Say, you accept the title and explore this concept. You will be able to experience yourself at each previous moment, but you cannot change what is to come. The you from the past and the you from the future are aware of one another, but neither can influence the other. It is a passive awareness. What has happened, what will happen, those things will always be the same.  _

_ If Jack doesn’t choose to be your consort, you will still, technically, be with him. But it won’t be the same. He will be the man who betrays you and the man who loves you and the man who dies in your arms. You will know what is about to happen, and you will watch it play out before your eyes, and you will not be able to stop it. When Jack dies, you will never experience him the way you would existing in the “present.”  _

_ Consorts are taken out of time, for lack of a better phrase. They aren’t granted much, but they will not die a mortal death, and they will be allowed in the realm of the gods without consequence, should their god desire them to be.  _

It lets the implications of that hang in the air for a moment. 

“That’s some really heavy shit,” Gabriel says, finally. If he were capable of feeling heat, he knows his blood would have ran cold at the thought of any of that happening. Jack is kind of awful, and Gabriel isn’t totally sold on the idea of them together forever, but. He loves the man, for whatever stupid reason. He isn't quite willing to let him go, just yet.

“What about the joint pain?” Jack asks, nearly simultaneously.

“ _ Jack-- _ ”

_ It will be gone. _

“Alright. I’m in.”

Gabriel sits up abruptly, twisting to see Jack’s face. Because he can’t be serious. But his face seems to say that he is. Gabriel wants to knock sense into him because this is so much and-- “You’re going to base a life changing decision on whether or not it will get rid of your joint pain? What about your  _ blindness _ , Jack?!”

“Of course not, idiot.” He is.

_ The blindness will also be corrected, should he want it. _

Gabriel leans over and grabs the sides of Jack’s mask. “This is deeper than marriage, Jack. Are you seriously saying you want to be immortal with me? Spend the rest of eternity putting up with me? I know you hate how I snore. Imagine that forever. I will annoy you forever. You will annoy me forever. We’re going to fight constantly. You are incredibly bossy.”

“You’re already annoying me now. I don’t see the difference,” Jack deflects, ignoring the deeper part of Gabriel’s rant. “Besides, I can hardly leave you to your own devices. I’m gone for a few years and you get turned into a god and start a cult.”

“I didn’t--”

_ Ah...Perhaps you should not do it. _

“No,” they both say at the same time. Gabriel twists his mouth to the side in embarrassment and Jack goes red. 

_ I certainly don’t wish to put up with your fight-flirting for eternity. _

They can’t even deny that it’s flirting because it’s technically true. Before Dorado, they had always skirted between the lines of a genuine fight and a competition to impress the other by being the most obnoxious. It was nothing a spar in the gym couldn't fix, although in hindsight, Gabriel can admit that if they'd talked things out, it might have actually been easier in the long run.  
  
“I missed you,” Jack admits. “But I also think I should help you in fixing what I broke. There’s always going to be a war, and I’m a soldier.”

“You’re so ridiculously military. You take it to a whole new level.” Gabriel sighs. He pauses and then gets a very put-upon look on his face. “This is stupidly romantic.”

“It is,” Jack agrees.

“I hate it.”

Jack shrugs.”It’s tolerable.”

They share a look and then Gabriel is flopping back into a lying position, arms held up in surrender. “Fine, whatever. God me.”

_ I can’t. You have to. _

“You spend this whole time telling me I gotta accept this stupid title, pendejo, and now you’re saying I have to give it to myself?”

_ Yes. It’s not hard. Just say it out loud.  _ The “you big baby” isn’t spoken but it hangs in the air. 

“I am a god,” Gabriel says in monotone. There's a pause and then--

_ Oh, you actually did it. I really didn’t think you would. _

And that is honest to god laughter that he’s hearing from Dolios. It’s less out loud like its normal speech is. It echoes in their heads instead. And god is it annoying. Gabriel is ready to hit this bird god thing with the nearest heavy object.

_ It really is simple, though. Here: Do you want to be a god, Gabriel? _

“...Yes,” he admits, with no small amount of suspicion. The answer is still sort of sincere, if reluctant.

_ And there you have it. You’re officially a god. _

“Don’t feel like one,” he mutters, staring at his hands.

_ Eventually you will; especially if your following grows or is sustained. But there are other things to learn that are unrelated to humans.  _

“When do I get to be a consort?” Jack butts in. Gabriel gives him another disbelieving look.

_ Gabriel has to do it himself. But I will show him how. Whichever time you feel is right. _

"Now works for me," Jack responds after a moment of consideration. (Thank god he'd at least done that. Had he said it immediately, Gabriel probably would have yelled.)

"Why?!" Gabriel yells anyways.  


"Why not? You just became a god, so let's make it a two for one deal."

"Two for one-- This isn't a damn shopping trip, Morrison!"  


_ Truthfully, it would be easier to get it out of the way now. I have some pretty intense training plans for you. _

“Wonderful,” is the grumbled response from Gabriel. Why? Why are these the people he's going to surround himself with, for fucking  _eternity?_ He makes about five annoyed and angry noises before he finally grits out, "Fine."

_ Great! Now, who wants to go to the spirit realm? _   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea how time works. i'm not good at anything even vaguely scientific, but let's just imagine for a moment that i know a little bit about stuff.
> 
> also hey. god shenanigans.


	14. xiv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it, folks! the final chapter in this beast of a story that plagued me for seemingly forever.

“This is terrible.”

Gabriel jabs Jack in the side with his elbow. From the corner of his mouth, he replies, “you’re the one who wanted to come here, idiota.”

Jack is fidgety. It isn’t hard to tell why. Dolios had essentially pushed them through the fabric of reality and left them on the other side to fend for themselves with a promise to meet them there; and who knows how long it's been since they arrived.

And, well. The other side leaves much to be desired. Everything is black, for as far as they can see. Nothing seems corporeal. There’s a dim light but no source, and it doesn’t illuminate anything. Something keeps hissing. That probably gets to Jack more than anything else. Gabriel isn't too fond of the muffled wails of pain in the distance.

Gabriel had tried sitting on the ground an unknown amount of time ago and had basically clipped through the floor, scrambling to get back up afterwards and nearly giving the both of them a heart attack. They stick to standing.

They’re about to give up after a while. (They have a plan. Jump on the floor and try and glitch back into the human world, like in the really old video games.)

“There you are!” a familiar voice shouts from behind them. Neither one jumps, but it’s a close call, as on edge as they are. They turn to greet Dolios, expecting an owl, but what they get instead is a person. A young one at that. He can’t be more than 21 and he’s in jeans and a threadbare sweater. He isn’t plain looking, exactly. He has a handsome face and a mass of curly brown hair, but it seems so… human. The only things that really stand out about him are the inhuman brightness in his eyes and the golden-winged sandals. There's an ethereal glow about him.

“Ah,” is all Gabriel really has to offer. Jack nods his agreement. “You’re not an owl.”

The wry twist of Dolios’ lips pretty much broadcasts his feelings on the matter. “Oh, definitely not. But I knew you wouldn’t have let me go with you if I had approached in any other form. You have a weak spot for owls, it would seem.” He glances around. “Why are you here?”

“You pushed us here,” Gabriel answers dryly. 

“Ah. I thought you’d wandered off.” Dolios presses two fingers to his lips and hums thoughtfully. “It’s tricky getting humans in here safely. Never can get them to stay still. This is purgatory. Well, a part of it. It’s definitely not my domain, but I can see why you may have ended up here. It tends to be the default for humans raised christian but turned agnostic.”

Right. Makes perfect sense. Gabriel glances at his sandals again. “Where is your domain, exactly?”

“Olympus!” The answer is a little more grandiose than Gabriel would have expected; Dolios is surprisingly less mystical than he'd been before. His face grows solemn, however. “Jack isn’t supposed to be there, as a mortal. But you don’t exactly have a realm of your own, yet, and if you want to make him a consort sooner so you can start on your mission, we’ll have to smuggle him in.”

“Smuggle me,” comes the deadpan question from Jack. He receives a nod in return.

“Mortals aren’t strictly forbidden from entering, but it’s an honor that’s rarely granted. If someone sees you, and it’s a someone who isn’t fond of humans, I can’t guarantee your safety.” Dolios shakes his head, but his face is that of someone who has gone through this countless times and is no longer affected by it. He shrugs, then. “Some gods change with the humans, some do not. It’s simply the way it is over here. There’s nothing wrong with it, per se. I tend not to try and sway opinions. 

“Personally, I like mortals. Their lives are so fleeting and yet they experience so much; I enjoy hearing their stories. Truth be told, they’re a lot more fun sometimes. And as an emissary between the gods and humans, it’s better for me to hold these opinions. You can’t exactly blend in with society in a flowing white robe and such. So this makes my job easy and also, I look good in jeans.”

“There are a lot of things compacted into what you just said,” Jack begins, ”but I’m stuck on the part where I might die.”

“You will not die,” Dolios counters firmly. His tone brokers no arguments. “I simply can’t promise that I will be able to get you out unscathed. Unless you slight a god, they probably won’t hunt you down just because I like to break rules and smuggle in humans from time to time.”

“Have you done this before, Dolios?” It’s a joke of a question, but Gabriel is also genuinely curious.

“Oh! Please, call me Hermes.” He shares a sly look with Gabriel. “Dolios is my stage name.”

Jack groans. “I can’t believe this.”

Hermes’ laugh is light and it warms the area, though Jack is the only one to feel it. It adds a bit of joy to the atmosphere just with its sound. “I joke around a lot with you two, but I’m actually quite a serious person if the situation requires it. Navigating the realms isn’t an easy task to undergo, after all. But constant solemnity is exhausting for me. I’m better suited to being, well. A trickster.” He claps his hands together. “Anyways! You are in capable hands.”

They stare at said hands, which are now being extended to the both of them. Jack grabs one without hesitation. Gabriel stares at it some more. 

“If you try and follow me through without guidance, you will get lost. And then devoured.”

It’s a convincing enough argument. Gabriel takes his other hand and then stares at where they’re joined. Hermes glances at Jack.

“Public intimacy isn’t his strong suit,” Jack offers in explanation. Hermes chuckles.

Gabriel, despite not being able to deny the accusation, is offended nonetheless. He makes a face at Jack. “So are we going to just… skip into Olympus through a back alley?”

“No,” Hermes replies, after a moment. “I don’t walk. I suppose skip  _ could  _ be an accurate word for it, depending on your definition.”

“Wh--” Gabriel’s next question is cut off by a tug on his arm and then a  _ huge  _ feeling of displacement. He doesn’t even really see anything in the second it takes to be from one place to the other, but the feeling drags out. He knows they’ve arrived, but it feels as if a part of him still needs to catch up. Jack is doubled over on the other side of Hermes, dry heaving. 

Gabriel sways for a moment, stumbles, and then recovers. For the most part. There’s still a sense of imbalance and distortion lingering. 

“Too fast?” Hermes asks, tone light. There’s a glint in his eyes that gives away his amusement. “Welcome to my humble corner of Olympus.”

Jack and Gabriel look around and see, well. Nothing. Not even darkness. Just a complete lack of existence. Gabriel squints and Jack wipes the outside of his visor. 

“There’s nothing here,” Jack says eventually, deciding to be the one to break the bad news. He’s trying to say it in a way that doesn’t seem accusative. Hermes hums.

“Give it a moment.”

A moment. And then, suddenly,  _ everything _ . All at once. There isn’t a way to describe it, really. There is nothing and then suddenly you’ve been made aware of your entire surroundings at once. As opposed to taking the time to look around and take it all in. Gabriel handles it better than Jack, who is swearing something fierce and is doubled over again. The feeling of displacement has disappeared for them, at least. 

“Interesting,” Gabriel muses, feeling a headache building. "I'm never doing that again."

Both the process and the place are a bit too much to handle all at once. They’re obviously inside some sort of house. The ceilings are high, towering beyond anything they’ve ever seen, and the walls are white and gilded with gold. There’s a lot of gold, actually. The hanging lights, the window panes, the spiraling stairs that lead to another floor. Even the floor itself seems to be a sort of golden, polished hardwood. Swirling and looping designs decorate the wall jut above the floor paneling. In the center of a room is a grand table, stretching far, and taller than they are. It's black wood is dark enough that it doesn't even seem to reflect light.

A large and lush white couch is sitting against a far wall, beneath an alcove that overlooks something that Gabriel can’t see from down below. It’s immaculate. It’s  _ bright.   _ “It’s nice,” Gabriel offers sincerely. 

Hermes rolls his eyes. “That’s a word for it.”

“It’s beautiful,” Jack breathes.

“That’s a better one.” Hermes motions for them to follow him, leading the way to a looming black door. They follow at a slower pace, wanting to get a really good look at the things they can actually see from where they’re standing. “This room really only gets used for parties and card night. I spend most of my time in the other rooms.”

“Card night,” Gabriel dead pans. Hermes nods.

“We  _ do  _ have fun, from time to time.” The door has no visible doorknob, but when he pushes a hand against it, it slides open with ease. “Once every mortal week, in fact.”

The other room is dark, as far as they can tell. Gabriel tries to peek around Hermes to glance inside but there isn’t much that he can see. 

“Isn’t there god stuff to do?” Gabriel asks skeptically. Jack is the one to give him a disbelieving look, this time. “What?”

“Stop questioning everything like an asshole,” he hisses. 

“How the fuck else am I supposed to learn anything?” he demands. “Please fill me in, oh wise human!”

"It's alright, Jack." Hermes leans a little more weight against the door to open it completely. Silhouettes can be made out, now. “Despite what you are now, Gabriel, you were a human before. I’d expect you to behave as such. Besides, I chose to be your mentor; I wouldn’t be a very good one if I smote you for being a smartass. You are, at least, respectful despite your sarcasm. Besides, I have a lot of payback to cash in on during your training and I intend on making it very hard.” He claps his hands together once, and a soft light begins to enter the adjacent room like a flower blooming from the ceiling. He steps inside and they follow, once again trying to make sense of their surroundings. “To answer your question, we do both at the same time. We’re splendid multi-taskers. You’re welcome to join us at some point, if you’d like. Although, I warn you, most of us have our poker faces perfected by this point. Anubis joined fairly recently. You might be able to compete with him. Maybe.” 

Gabriel nods instead of saying anything else, trying to at least seem like he’s not completely ignorant and lost. Not that he thinks it’ll be held against him; it’s a pride thing. If he’s going to be a god, he at least wants to give the impression of being a knowledgeable one.

The more light that fills the room, the more obvious it is that it’s… different. There are papers everywhere: on top of desks, shoved into folders that are shoved into drawers, but not a single one is put away properly. It’s not necessarily a mess, so much as it is cluttered. Hermes doesn’t seem the least bit worried about it, so Gabriel makes no comment of it. Jack certainly doesn’t. He’s been silent, for the majority of this. Maybe trying to avoid offending?

“I grab the papers as I leave, so this is quicker,” Hermes explains despite the lack of accusation. Jack gives a slow nod. Gabriel shrugs. “There used to be a system in place, believe it or not.” He looks rueful for a moment. “Gods tend to just drop the papers in and ignore my filing system. I’ve mostly given up on that.”

“That’s…” Gabriel isn’t sure how to end the sentence in a way that isn’t insulting to someone. “...inconvenient?”

He receives a small grin for his efforts. “It’s rude. But it doesn’t matter. Even gods can have flaws. It doesn’t make them any less divine or worthy of respect, however. That’s the key thing to remember. Humans forget that, from time to time and it comes back to bite them. Hubris is a dangerous thing.” There’s a quick glance cast towards a stack of papers and then he beams. “For some gods, that is. A decent amount don’t care about how humans conduct themselves. Both are right. In Olympus, though, it’s better to keep your respectfulness to a maximum.”

Jack looks like he wants to be taking notes, and he nods enthusiastically. Gabriel snickers to himself. “I never took you for being so pious, Jack.”

“We’re in  _ Olympus  _ talking to a  _ god _ , Gabe. Sorry if I’m actually putting in effort to not be a dick,” he snipes back.

“I am too,” Gabriel growls. “Wanna know the best way to do it? Shutting the fuck up.”

“Feel free to go first!”

Hermes looks between the two of them. “Are you always like this? I thought maybe you had just been having a rough patch before, having not seen one another for a while.” 

Gabriel has to actually think back on it. It isn’t something he’s had the time to dig back up. At the beginning, they had fought as strangers who couldn’t stand one another. They got into a fist fight eventually, and when they were exhausted and bloody, they’d laughed it off and gone to get drinks. 

Their friendship had always been an aggressive one. Jack was bossy and Gabriel was stubborn. Jack was adamant about rules, Gabriel would break them to help someone out. Jack was too prideful, and so was Gabriel. It didn’t mix well but it worked, somehow. They fought, they drank, and then they moved on. And so the cycle went.

Gabriel hadn’t even realized that that had been considered flirting for Jack until the man had asked him on a date. Their romantic relationship wasn’t any different. They fought, they fucked, they drank, and then they moved on. The problem had really been that neither one ever wanted to apologize, and neither ever wanted to admit to being wrong. Some things really  _ hurt _ but neither one would admit when something affected them. It built up.

It’s still there, he supposes; the leftover tension and anger from their past together. Because while they had loved each other, they’d annoyed the hell out of one another. And in the end, they had resented each other. It’s something they still haven’t talked about yet. Not in depth.

“Yes,” Gabriel finally says, soft and quiet. Jack is looking away, eyes cast towards the ground. The air hangs heavy between them. Apparently, they’re both remembering the same thing. 

“I see,” Hermes replies gently. “There is still a lot of bad blood between you. I think the two of you need to talk, before we go through with anything.”

They really do, though egos are no doubt keeping them from actively pursuing some sort of reconciliation. Without a push, the conversation will probably never happen, if they can help it. And, it would seem Hermes intends to be that push. Literally, as he places his hands on their backs and all but shoves them towards another door.

Oddly enough, this door is proportionate to their size. It’s a simple oak door, no gold in sight. Even a little cracked, if you look close enough. Jack digs his heels in at the last moment, though it makes absolutely no difference; Hermes keeps pushing him onward without any change in pace. 

“Wait, I don’t want to waste your time,” he insists, as if doing the thing and then regretting it and fighting forever wouldn’t also be a waste of time.

“Nonsense. Time is irrelevant.” Hermes only stops once they’re right in front of the door. Jack doesn’t seem convinced, and even Gabriel feels a little reluctant. The god pats them on the shoulders. “I’ll admit, this is my first time mentoring someone into godhood, and while I know how to do it, it’s a new experience for me. I take my responsibility very seriously, and that involves ensuring that the two of you are actually happy. A bitter god isn’t fun to teach.”

He reaches past them to open the door and then shoves them inside. “Besides, you’re far more annoying when you’re like this. Talk it out, gentlemen!”

The door closes on them in finality and they both deflate. This room is a small one, barely bigger than a standard human bedroom. There’s a brown couch against one wall, a beanbag chair in one corner, and a reclining chair in the other. There’s a simple wooden table in the center with cans of Pepsi on it, of all things. 

“Are those supposed to be for us?” Jack finally asks to break the silence. It stirs Gabriel into action, the man choosing to drop down onto the beanbag chair. Jack grabs a can and sits on the couch. For a moment, all they do is stare at the floor and wallow in awkward silence. 

Jack removes his mask, to drink or maybe to avoid having to see. Gabriel’s had been gone for a while, preferring to be able to emote and make his annoyance as clear as possible. The only noise in the room is the ‘ _ tsst’ _ of the can being open and then the soft swallowing of Jack. 

“This is ridiculous,” Gabriel mutters finally. Jack hums in agreement. “What the hell are we supposed to talk about?”

There’s the sound of Jack chugging the rest of the drink, and then the hesitant fumbling of him trying to place it back onto the table without being able to see. He’s mildly successful; it resting tentatively on the edge of the table before toppling off. “Why we act like we hate each other, probably.”

“Oh, that?” Gabriel asks in a parody of surprise. “I was thinking it might be to discuss the weather?”

Jack furrows his eyebrows and his mouth twists into a frown. “You asked--”

“It was a rhetorical question,” Gabriel interrupts.

“That’s not how a rhetorical question works!”

It’s silent once again and the air is charged, both parties already more angry than the conversation warrants. After a few minutes, Jack sighs and slumps further back into the couch. “I guess I should apologize.”

Gabriel huffs, toeing the ground with his boot in annoyance. “Yeah? For what?”

“I don’t know,” he admits honestly. His face is weary, and he sounds resigned. Tired. “Even before all this, before Dorado, we weren’t on good terms. I don’t know what it was that made you finally hate me.”

“Estúpido,” Gabriel spits at him. “I never hated you.” Not on my own, is his silent thought.

Jack looks genuinely surprised by the statement and Gabriel has to wonder just how differently they had been seeing things, back then. “You sure acted like it.”

“That’s because  _ you  _ were acting obnoxious.” Gabriel folds his arms over his torso, looking to the side. “You got the promotion and suddenly you were too good for me.”

Jack winces at that. “I was your superior officer. I thought if word got out, it’d get you into trouble or you’d lose people’s respect.”

“You sure it wasn’t just so you could look good as commander?” he sneers back. 

“Gabe, I never wanted that promotion,” Jack insists. “I tried. I tried so hard to get them to give it to you.” He scowls. “I know they just wanted a poster boy but what was I supposed to do? They wouldn’t take it from me. If I'd resigned, do you really think they would have passed it along to you? They would've just given it to the next attractive white boy.”

That’s new information to him. No one had told him about Jack trying to give away his position. Jack hadn’t even told him. “Why are you so fucking  _ stupid _ ? Why didn’t you ever tell me you tried to give it to me?”

“You were angry! I didn’t want to disappoint you more.” Jack exhales heavily and runs a hand over his face. “I know I didn’t handle things well. I thought, at the time, that I was doing the right thing. I guess if I had just… talked to you, things might have been different.”

“Look...” Gabriel is silent for a moment, and then he curses softly under his breath. “You aren’t the only one in the wrong. You did try to talk to me about it a few times, and I shut you down and sent you away. I was angry, and I was  _ right  _ to be angry, but I shouldn’t have taken it all out on you. Should’ve figured they’d give it to the pretty little blond farmer.”

Jack flushes just slightly. “I always was the better looking one, wasn’t I?”

He’s lucky Gabriel is too far away from the table to throw a can at his face. “Shut up,” he says without heat. “Jack, you know how you are. You like bossing people around, and sometimes you take it too far. People are still people, yeah? You seemed to have forgotten that, from time to time.”

“Yeah. I did.” 

“I knew you were trying, Jack.” Gabriel smiles, softly and to himself. It fades into something more remorseful. “You were dealt a shit hand and you tried to make the best of it. Overwatch was bound to tear itself apart, even without you. You’d never been a malicious person. Just a stupid one. I knew, too, that you were overwhelmed but I was petty and didn’t support you.”

“You’re hardly the only one,” he mutters in return. “I didn’t do much to help you with Blackwatch, either. I got petty too.” He smiles a little sadly. “I’m tired of fighting with you, Gabe.”

“I am too. We got this all wrong, didn’t we,  cariño?” Gabriel asks in a sigh. Jack laughs softly, not realizing that Gabriel is crossing the room to sit next to him until the couch dips down slightly. There’s a cold touch to his face that he tries not to flinch away from; Gabriel turns Jack’s head so he’s facing him. He brushes a thumb over Jack’s lower lip and the man inhales sharply. “Te amo.”

“I love you too,” Jack responds immediately. He’s already tearing up. It’s incredibly sappy, and endearing. 

“Stop crying,” Gabriel pleads softy. “I’m going to start crying and then where will we be? One of us has to be the stable one.”

“You’re practically a cloud, Gabe,” Jack grumbles, trying to reach up to wipe away his tears. Gabriel swats his hands away. “I’m at least in a constant solid state.”

Gabriel presses a hand to the middle of Jack’s face and then pushes him. Jack topples to the side just slightly before catching himself on his elbow. He glares at the general direction of where Gabriel probably is and nearly slips completely off in surprise when a pair of cold, soft lips press against his own; just briefly, a brush and then he’s gone again. “Shut up. I’m trying to be romantic.” 

“I am too,” Jack mumbles. “There was a surprising lack of teeth in that kiss.”

“That was a bit of a gamble,” Gabriel admits airily. He’s disappointed that Jack can’t see the leer he gives him, but he does it anyways, dipping his head to press it into the crook of Jack’s neck. He purrs, “Do you want there to be more teeth?” 

When Jack goes completely red and looks mortified, Gabriel lets out a surprised bark of laughter and sits up again, cackling. “Oh, you do! Jack ‘Boy Scout’ Morrison, do you want me to bite you?”

“Well!” comes the loud interruption from the doorway, startling the two of them into jumping away from one another like embarrassed teenagers. Jack shoves his mask back onto his face to hide his humiliation. “Romantic as this all is, I would prefer you not spend the next decade making out on my couch. I trust you two have settled things.”

They nod, mutely, like chastised kids. Hermes grins, and motions for them to get up and follow him. “Good, because I’ve gotten things set up in the couch room.”

Gabriel gets to his feet first, with Jack following behind and cracking his back. “Couch room,” he echoes in disbelief. When he glances at Jack, the man offers a confused shrug.

“Yes,” is the only answer they’re given as Hermes leads them out of the room and back into the parlour, towards the (now small) golden stairs. They’re proportionate to them, rather than how they had been before, making the spiral longer with more stairs to compensate for the difference. “I’m usually much… taller. But I doubt you two want me to carry you up the stairs so I changed them.”

“Just like that,” Gabriel deadpans.

“Just like that!” Hermes declares, beginning the ascent to the upper floor. The sly look he sends Gabriel is mocking. “It’s almost like I’m a god, or something.”

Gabriel huffs. Despite the seemingly endless number of stairs, it isn’t a very taxing effort to climb them. Their breathing doesn't become labored and their legs don't strain. They’re silent for a while, Jack running his fingers along the railing as they move and Gabriel trying to recover from the taunt. 

“I’m looking forward to seeing gold, again,” Jack says softly, as if unaware that the thought is being voiced out loud.

“I thought you could see with the visor,” Gabriel responds, suddenly confused all over again. The mechanics of it had never been explained, but he had assumed the visor restored his sight completely. 

Jack shakes his head. “I can see in shades of red, and details aren’t always clear from a distance. I miss colors.”

Gabriel isn’t sure how to respond, but he places a hand on Jack’s shoulder and squeezes it gently in reassurance. He can’t see Jack’s answering smile, but he knows it’s there. 

The couch room is… well, it’s aptly named. Gabriel had been expecting maybe five couches. Not unreasonable, but enough to warrant naming a room after them. But, no. The couch room is made of couch. Well, the floor is. The stairs come up into a hole in the floor of the room, and it’s jarring to see.

Brown cushions are being used in lieu of actual flooring, and there are pillows of varying sizes and colors littered throughout the room. The wall opposite the stairs is almost entirely glass, a large window overlooking-- 

“Oh,” Gabriel breathes. There are clouds, iridescent and large, drifting along outside. They seem to go on for miles. The sky itself is inky black, scattered with stars and nebulae more beautiful than anything humans have ever discovered. It should be simple, clouds and a sky, but it’s breathtaking. Jack nods, although now Gabriel is aware that he isn’t experiencing it in the same way and his chest aches. “Do you remember that rock you brought back from Ilios? The one you insisted I keep?”

The question catches Jack off guard. He nods. “You put it on your desk.”

“Do you remember how it looked when the light would catch it just right?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what those clouds look like,” he explains, hoping it at least makes the experience richer. He knows Jack will regain his sight soon, but the first time seeing something always leaves the biggest impression. 

“...Thank you,” Jack replies after a moment, his voice wavering just slightly. Gabriel wonders if anyone had ever bothered to do that for him, before. He regrets not doing so earlier.

Gabriel allows the moment to linger briefly before he tries to actually get into the room. It’s only of marginal success. The cushions on the ground are large and sink in deeply with even the slightest pressure. He can barely keep upright, let alone walk. Jack seems to fare better than him, giving up on walking and instead choosing to basically crawl into the room. He follows suit after faceplanting not even three feet into the room. 

Hermes, of course, strolls across the floor effortlessly and offers no assistance. He’s settled before they can even get very far, and grinning. Smug, maybe. Definitely enjoying the show. “I don’t usually bring people up here. The ones I do are a lot better at walking that you two are.”

Gabriel tries to stand and say something, but falls on his face again. He’s far enough in by now that he chooses to roll on his back and lay there in defeat rather than embarrass himself further for the god’s amusement. Jack makes a valiant effort to continue on, but soon follows suit. 

“I suppose that will work,” Hermes says, coming closer to where they are. His head pops into view, curls framing his face as he looks down on them. “Gabriel, you’ll need to be sitting up, preferably behind Jack’s head. Jack, you’re fine like that.”

Reluctantly, Gabriel pushes himself up and crawls in the most dignified manner possible until he can seat himself at Jack’s head, winking at him. Hermes moves to stand behind Gabriel and places both hands on his shoulders. 

“For the sake of transparency, I’ll explain the process to both of you. You’ll want to be unconscious for the actual thing, however, Jack,” Hermes explains. Jack doesn’t really want to know why, so he nods his assent. “Again, this is a little difficult to put into understandable terms. Basically, what Gabriel will be doing is binding your soul to his and giving you a piece of his godhood. Don’t--” he says when Gabriel opens his mouth to no doubt make an innuendo. The man holds up his hands in surrender, and gets a small smile; although he can't see it. “You don’t exactly have the power for that yet, so I’ll be lending you some of mine to do so.”

“Right…” Gabriel looks down at Jack. “Makes sense.”

“It’s easier to understand once it’s being done. Are there any questions, or would you like to begin?” They shake their heads ‘no’, not really able to think of a question that isn’t just ‘what are we doing again?’ “Good. Gabriel, please remove Jack’s mask and place your hands on his temples.”

Gabriel gives Jack as reassuring of a smile as he can manage before he takes the mask off. “You gonna be alright, guerro?”

“I trust you,” he replies. “Hermes, that is. Not you, Gabe.”

“Jackass,” Gabriel grunts, though he’s smiling as he does so. Jack’s returning smile is bright. His hands are gentle when he places them to the sides of Jack’s head, cold and light. 

“Jack, please close your eyes,” Hermes instructs softly. When Jack does so, he continues, “And sleep.”

There’s a thrumming of something through Gabriel, like an intense and acute vibration, and then Jack’s body goes limp. Worry springs up inside of Gabriel at first, an instinctual reaction to seeing him drop so suddenly, but the thrumming begins to fade and Jack sighs out a small breath. 

The gravity of the situation finally manages to hit him, then. Going through the motions is easy enough when what you do is only going to affect yourself. But this is… This is Jack. Stupid, stubborn Jack, who had never known when to step away from danger. Who probably would have followed Gabriel to the grave if he could have. Who would have dragged both of their asses back just because he never knows when to quit. Because he never knows when to give up on a person. Stupid, stupid, loyal Jack. Who is putting his life and trust into the hands of a man who would have killed him two months ago without a hint of remorse. Gabriel almost calls the whole thing off.

“You are afraid,” Hermes observes. This is probably the thousandth time that his fear has been pointed out to him by now, but this time he is capable of acknowledging it. 

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he admits in a panicked rush of words. What ‘this’ is referring to isn’t very clear. “I just got him back, I don’t want to-- And what if he regrets it? He’ll be stuck with me, forever. I can’t make him go through that.”

Hermes allows him to vent out his thoughts without interruption, acknowledging his fears with small noises of understanding. When the words die down and all that’s left is Gabriel’s harsh breathing, he speaks. “He loves you; very much so. Trust him in his decisions and support them. He is a rational man. I know he’s given this more thought than you are assuming. When we spoke, the night you read over those files, all he would talk about is how he never wanted to lose you again. If you end this, I think he will probably end you.”

It’s enough to shock a laugh out of Gabriel, and his panic seems to ease with it. He breathes in deeply, and then exhales slowly. 

“The two of you have a complicated and rough past with one another, and yet you’ve ended up back here. Together and happy. But if you must be assured, Jack is not required to remain at your side, if he doesn't want to.” Once the last of the tension has faded from Gabriel’s body, he asks, “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

This time the feeling isn’t so much a vibration as a heavy pressure that presses down onto him. It’s intense, and for a while it feels like it will be too much, but slowly it starts to ease. Or, rather, he grows with it. He remains as he is, but he can feel his own awareness expanding. His senses are different, picking up on things he isn’t sure he understands. It’s power, for sure, and he wonders if this is just a sliver of what it’s like to be a god of Hermes’ stature.

There’s a small bit of energy, within his hands. It’s unassuming and very gentle. It presses against him and he feels warmth. Genuine warmth. He sucks in a breath in surprise and delight.

“I see you’ve found him,” Hermes says in response. “That is Jack’s soul. Hold onto that. Now, that expansion of yourself that you’re feeling, that is your own essence and not my own. I’ve simply helped it to grow, so to speak. You need to reel it in, within yourself.”

The words make sense. Even the process does, in a way. But Gabriel struggles at first. Sucking in doesn’t help. Pulling doesn’t help. If he tries to force it one way, it goes the other in retaliation. 

“Just as stubborn as you are,” Hermes observes with amusement. “What a satisfying twist of irony. I almost want to let you struggle with it for a bit, but I’m far less petty than you are.” 

Gabriel doubts that, but keeps the comment to himself. 

“You can’t force this,” Hermes explains. “You don’t need to move your presence, you need to narrow your awareness. Focus inwards, and your soul will respond accordingly.”

Again: words, process, struggle. But he tries. It’s hard to stop thinking about things, to quiet your mind and focus solely on something that isn’t concrete. He decides instead, to focus on Jack. The feelings he inspires in him and his own returning feelings. His mind wanders with it until, eventually, his awareness has narrowed to the soul in his hands and the warmth in his chest.

“Good.” Hermes’ words are quiet and gentle, avoiding breaking his concentration. “That bit that you feel within yourself? Give it to him.”

This time it’s easier to follow the instructions. The way the warmth leaves his chest to mingle with the one between his hands is almost natural, instinctual. They dance together in his hands, twirling playfully until they’re just one feeling. One presence. Gabriel let’s it go.

When Hermes steps back, the feeling of power doesn’t leave Gabriel. He doesn’t need to ask to know that this is a permanent change, that the power will no doubt only continue to grow. He moves his hands to rest along Jack’s jaw, and nudges him into consciousness without the need for instruction.

Jack’s eyes open slowly, and then widen in shock. “Gabe, your face…”

Suddenly self conscious about it, he pulls back slightly until Jack grabs his arm to stay him. “You already knew it was fucked up.”

Bright blue eyes blink once, twice, and then he’s scowling at Gabriel. “No, idiot. All I can see is your human one.” He grins crookedly. “Although I guess that one is pretty fucked up too.”

“Jacka--”

“I missed seeing it,” Jack interrupts. “Your face without all of the red. I missed _seeing_.”

“You seem to be just fine, Jack,” Hermes interrupts before their banter can pick back up, feeling the joking exchange beginning to build within them. “Do you feel strange at all?”

Jack shakes his head. “Dizzy, but fine. The pain is gone.”

“Good.” Hermes directs his attention to Gabriel, who hasn’t looked away from Jack yet. “And you, Gabriel? How do you feel?”

He closes his eyes and smiles. Because for the first time, in a long time, he feels free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i wrote this whole entire story in a week and by the end i was all but dead to the world. i had intended to go into a lot more detail about the whole god thing; the training, actually learning how to do stuff and gain power. but like i said, i was dead. so! i'll probably make this into a series or something. maybe have a few little follow up stories and add some more of the overwatch characters into the mix.
> 
> again, thank you guys so so so much for all your lovely comments! every single one made me smile. you're the best!! <3


End file.
